Ghosts that We Knew
by arrowsroot1918
Summary: Agent Charlie Rhys, a forensic artist in the FBI's BAU is having a terrible day. Things only get worse when Hotch informs her that she has to stay behind to perform a psych eval on a perspective agent for S.H.I.E.L.D with a troubled past. Charlie must grapple with her own dark past as she finds herself able to empathize with her subject - the former Winter Soldier.
1. The File

I learned that courage was not about the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear – Nelson Mandela.

There was barely enough time for Charlie to set down her morning latte on her desk, when JJ walked by carrying several case files, informing her that Hotch wanted to see her in his office. Sighing, she dropped her case files on the desk, and made her way up from the bullpen. Walking towards his office Charlie peeked through the glass, glimpsing her boss busy on the phone, before gently knocking on the door.

"Come in," Hotch called to her, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.

Pushing the door open Charlie stepped in, closing it behind her before taking a seat across from Hotch at his desk.

"This just came across my desk this morning." He slid a large, thick file in her direction. "JJ is presenting a case regarding a series of abductions in Indiana to the team this morning, you should be finished by the time we wrap up. If not then you'll be helping Garcia here until we return."

Leaning forward, unhappy that she would not be joining her team in the field, Charlie grabbed the file and flipped it open to the front page. "SHIELD?" she asked peering up from the file in her lap, having never heard of them before.

"It's a law enforcement agency not all unlike our own." Hotch explained the basic premise of the agency quickly and efficiently, as to not raise more questions than answered. "They've requested we perform a psych eval on one of their agents with a particularly troubled past. They need to know if he is fit for active duty, or if he still has more recovering to do. Given your training, as well as your personal history, I believe you are the agent best suited for the job." Hotch explained avoiding eye contact. She knew exactly what he meant when he said 'your history.'

"This doesn't have anything to do with the news today, does it sir?" She asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow. Cause the way she figured it, it would be an awfully big coincidence if it didn't. She could hardly turn her head without seeing the headlines of the Times or the Post screaming at her. This didn't include the televised news running the same story every hour on the hour - just incase she missed it the first five times this morning on the radio.

"Rhys – Gideon trained you personally before leaving the BAU. Aside from him, you are the best the BAU has seen when it comes to performing detailed Psych Evals quickly and accurately. The CIA personally requests you every time they need an eval of a new agent - I know that because they keep demanding to know why you keep rejecting their offer of a transfer. I also know you happen to be particularly gifted at compartmentalizing, if you weren't you wouldn't have joined or been accepted into the FBI training academy, given your history. If this file hadn't come across my desk, you would be joining us on the jet to Indiana. That said," he breathed folding his fingers tightly together. "I suggest you get reading. The agent in question will be here this afternoon for the Eval. That should be more than enough time for you to become familiar with his case. I should also mention that he has requested his childhood friend be present with him during the evaluation as moral support."

"What did you say to that?" asked Charlie curiously, looking up from the file in her lap, already halfway done the first page. Generally speaking the only people allowed to sit in during an eval were the evaluator and the subject– in some cases a child services representative had to sit in when they interviewed kids under the age of eighteen.

"I told their Director that it was your call. And that I will back your decision, whatever you choose."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that," she replied with a cool but appreciative nod. Hotch had her back, there was never any doubt about that. The BAU was more than just a team of expert profilers – they were family, and here you looked out for, and protected, your own. "Will that be everything?" Gripping the chair, ready to push herself up out of the seat, she wanted to double check if there was anything else that needed to be addressed today before diving head first into the mountain of paperwork that came attached with psych evals.

"For the time being," answered Hotch looking back down at his own ever-growing stack of paperwork. No matter your position, Unit chief or profiler, it always seemed like the piles of papers were always growing, and they never got smaller. Never.

Giving him a brief, polite smile, Charlie stood from her seat and made her way towards the door.

"Rhys," Hotch called after her. She stopped and looked back at him. "If you need to talk, about today's announcement, please know that my door is always open. We're here for you, all of us."

Smiling warmly in his direction she bowed her head slightly thanking him for the moral support, assuring him you were fine however. He offered a polite, professional smile as he studied her otherwise neutral face– there would be that compartmentalizing he was referring to earlier - before getting up from his desk to head towards the conference room where JJ would be presenting the case. Walking back towards her desk Charlie came across the rest of the team.

"Hey sugar, where you off to? The briefing is that way," Morgan chuckled pointing in the direction of the conference room.

Prentiss and Reid stood slightly behind Morgan, waiting for an answer, all of them confused as to why she could be possibly heading in the other direction. Avoiding eye contact Reid picked a spot and stared at the floor. Clearly he read this morning's paper.

"I've got homework," replied Charlie, playfully waving the large file marked with a giant red 'confidential' stamp, for them to see.

"Looks like someone has herself a hot date tonight," Morgan teased, giving her a knowing smirk that screamed 'have fun.'

"You know it," she shot back with a half-hearted smile. "Something tells me this bad boy is going to keep me up all night - and not in the fun way either, " she sighed.

"Don't tell me you're actually wanting a social life," Rossi asked coming up behind her, wondering where the hell the rest of the team was when he walked into the empty conference room.

"Perish the thought," she chuckled, rolling her eyes as though the very thought was sheer lunacy. "An agent in the BAU with a social life, surely such things only exist in legends, and fairytales," she teased back. "All joking aside, I have paperwork, and you have five missing women in Indiana."

Morgan, Reid and Prentiss continued down towards the conference room where Hotch and JJ were waiting. Only Rossi lingered by the stairwell, waiting just long enough for the others to be out of earshot. Once her was sure he squeezed her arm gently.

"They don't know – do they?" asked Dave standing by Charlie as she watched them all take their seats around the table as JJ dimmed the lights to start her presentation.

"Reid does. Couldn't look me in the eyes. It was like he was afraid I might break if I knew he knew about it. Hotch will probably tell the rest of them on the jet." She replied unable to tear her eyes away from the round table. What she wouldn't give to be with them right now as JJ presented the latest case – anything to take her mind off of this morning's news. It was only half past eight, and she was already waiting for the day to be over so everyone else would just move on. All she wanted was to put the past behind her and get on with her life.

"How are you holding up? You okay?"

Dave had been a big part of Charlie's life. Ever since she was eighteen he had been a second father to her. As a result he knew her better than anyone else. If there was anyone who could see through her – it was Rossi.

"I'm alright. We knew this day was going to come eventually. Pete called me last night to let me know, so I wouldn't be totally shocked when I saw the news this morning. It was sweet. You know he and Shannon just had their twenty-eighth wedding anniversary?" Lamely, she attempted to change to subject at hand to something more mundane, normal - nothing to do with her.

"You know, no one would blame you if you needed to take a personal day or two," offered Rossi. "Knowing this was coming doesn't necessarily make it any easier once it actually happens."

"I know," she exhaled slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know. But I'll be fine Dave, really. Tomorrow is a new day, and things will be better." They have to be, she thought to herself, no trace of those thoughts flickered across her face however. She got good at hiding her emotions. Like everyone on her team Charlie learned to keep her emotions buried miles beneath the surface, and Rossi knew that. All of them had their secrets, and they learned to trust each other not to pry. Unfortunately in Charlie's case the media sought to ensure that she had no secrets, but there were still a select few she would take to the grave however, not everyone knew the truth.

"Alright." He cast her a concerned if not doubtful sideways glance. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he offered a sad, but supportive smile. "Just know that if you need to talk we're all here for you. You don't have to go through this alone Rhys. We might not know what you're going through, but that doesn't mean we're not here for you in whatever way you need us."

Biting the inside of her cheek hard, and taking several calming breaths she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thanks Dave."

"Anytime, kitten." He pulled her in close so her head burrowed into the crook of his neck as he placed a gentle, fatherly kiss on the top of her head. "I wish you didn't have to go through this. But you, and we've got you." Patting her back softly Rossi stepped back and walked Charlie back to her desk before returning to the conference room.

Sighing, She dropped the file on her desk before plopping down into her seat as one of the wheels made a terrible scraping noise. She had to talk to someone about either getting a new chair, or getting someone to take a look at the broken wheel. Suddenly she found herself wishing she splurged and bought that cheesecake brownie she'd seen at the Café this morning. Glaring contemptuously at the freshly delivered paperwork on her left she let out a frustrated, and slightly defeated sigh. She could do with a pick me up right about now.

Flipping the file open to the front page, she grumbled something about getting an extra big cookie on the way home, and started reading.


	2. The Soldier

Looking around, tugging gently at the collar of his shirt, Bucky fidgeted nervously in his seat. The whole place put him on edge. People constantly raced past them, like drops of rain on a car window, not one of them bothering to cast the two men a second glance. Was there something special going on today they should know about, or was this just another day at Quantico?

With burning intensity, Bucky watched everyone bustle past them, consumed in their private worlds, completely unaware that a former Soviet Assassin was currently sitting in their offices with a visitors badge clipped to the lapel of his jacket. The way he figured it, it was for the best they didn't know. Every time someone rounded the corner his hands gripped the arms of his chair a little tighter, anxiously anticipating the next agent to be the one to tell him that he was under arrest for his crimes against the United States of America and would be spending the remainder of his life locked away at Guantanamo Bay. His anxiety was only exacerbated by the fact that the agent conducting his evaluation was now at least five minutes late.

"Relax, would you? Everything will be just fine. I'm sure he's just busy, that's all." Steve sat, in stark contrast, across from Bucky in the small waiting area. Looking calm, comfortable and poised, he read this morning's paper while Bucky fretted and shifted tensely in his seat.

Taking his friend's advice Bucky focused his attention instead on the front page of Steve's paper. According to the headlines the big story today was some serial killer in Tennessee had his execution date set. Skimming the article as Steve continued reading a different page, Bucky didn't catch much else other than the fact that this guy was supposedly the worst the State had ever seen, with a record breaking thirty-six kills over a span of nine years. As a former professional gunman, Bucky had to admit that thirty-six was an impressive number – for a civilian. Scolding himself he lowered his head in shame, that was probably not something he should be thinking considering he was trying to convince people that the Winter Soldier was gone, and he was 'just Bucky' now.

Folding the paper in half and setting in his seat Steve faced his friend. "Remember that no matter what happens in there, I'm with you . . ."

"Till the end of the line," Bucky exhaled with a small smile before running his fingers through his freshly cut hair – at least he was starting to look like his old self instead of some bum on the street. He knew in his bones that all of this was just procedure. Fury couldn't risk sending him out into the field if there was a risk he might slip back into who they made him into. But he'd been getting help, and going to counselling regularly. He even stood up and spoke about his experience as the 'Winter Soldier' last week during Sam's VA support group. Things had been better, he was better, now, but the thought of having to undergo a psychiatric evaluation by some fed worried him. They didn't know him. What if he slipped and said something wrong – it meant he'd be stuck at a desk job for the rest of his life.

"Sergeant Barnes?" A polite female voice grabbed his attention, disrupting his mounting anxiety.

Popping his head up in the direction of the voice Bucky spotted her standing in the door way smiling as she looked at him, holding a stack of paperwork. She was an attractive young woman; with dark chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail and long bangs framing her delicate features. Her casual attire of black jeans and wine coloured blouse was muted testimony to more relaxed dress code adopted by the Bureau over the last few years. He also noted, however, that she wore a gun holstered to her belt, and a badge on the inside collar of her blouse though he couldn't make out a name.

"Hi," he perked up immediately. Standing he straightened up, and leaned in to shake the woman's hand. Steve rose from his seat as well as a sign of respect for the woman before shaking her hand as well.

"Hi," she returned his apparent enthusiasm. "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Rhys. If you, and Captain Rogers want to follow me this way," she nodded in Steve's direction with the same welcoming smile, before leading them out of the waiting area.

The two men followed her down a series of short corridors until she stopped in front of a room full of computer monitors. The nameplate on the door read: Penelope Garcia.

"Our Technical Analyst has agreed to let us use her office for the evaluation," the female agent explained before opening the door. "It's generally less intimidating than our other offices." She led them both in, and they saw what she meant.

The room was small, but filled with bright colours, stuffed animals, strangely shaped toys, including rainbow slinkies, neon water filled balls with squishy spikes on them, amongst other things. Bucky thought it looked like the room of a child – not an office at the FBI headquarters in Quantico.

"If you two want to take a seat," she ushered for them to sit down in some of the rolling office chairs provided.

"So is this where we'll be meeting the agent conducting the evaluation?" Steve asked nervously, sinking down into the leather seat. He had no idea why he was nervous, he had no reason to be. He wasn't the one undergoing the evaluation, but he might as well be from the way his palms sweated and his breaths increased rapidly. Twice now Bucky offered him a hit from his old asthma inhaler.

Agent Rhys looked back at him with a confused expression as she sat down into a chair of her own. Reaching down beside her chair she picked up a bottle of water, twisting the cap off she spoke, "I'm sorry Captain Rogers I think there's been some confusion. I'm the agent who will be evaluating Mr. Barnes." She handed each man a bottle of water with a polite smile - just incase they needed it during the eval.

Steve sat stunned for a second. He didn't know why, but he just assumed that the agent would be a burly tough guy who never smiled, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he kind of expected Bucky to evaluate Bucky. "Fury told us the Agent's name was Charlie Rise? Arr-hiss? Er-huss. . . how do you say that?" Steve argued looking down at the name on the paper, ignoring the panicked jab to his ribs from Bucky.

The last thing Bucky needed was Agent Rhys declaring him unfit for duty before the evaluation had even begun because Steve pissed her off. Steve leaned over and showed the name to Buck. Even he had no idea how it was supposed to be pronounced.

"May I take a look at that?" she asked craning her neck to read the orders in Steve's hand.

Steve held out the paper for her to read. "See," he pointed at the name on the paper. "Charlie . . . R . . . something."

The woman chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "It's pronounced Reece, like the candy bar– no relations- but that's me. Agent Charlie Rhys at your service. The spelling is Welsh, it throws everybody off, don't worry."

"Not trying to sound too old-fashioned, but back in my day Charlie was a boy's name." Steve sat, still confused as to why anyone would name a woman Charlie – unless it was Charlene, maybe Charlotte. "Is it short for something?" He asked quickly.

"No," she laughed again. "My dad just really wanted a boy. Don't worry, you're not the first to make the mistake, and I doubt you'll be the last," she smiled at them both. She focused her attention back on to Bucky, who by that point was staring off in the direction of the numerous computer monitors wondering why anyone would choose to work here. "So, you ready to begin."

The momentary calm he felt when he first laid eyes on her vanished as suddenly as it appeared and his nerves returned in full force. "I think so," he said smoothing the imaginary wrinkles in his blue jeans.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," she assured him with a comforting smile. "We're just talking. That's all this is. They use fancy words like 'evaluation' and 'assessment' on the paperwork, but really all we do is talk. From there we'll know where you are, and if you're ready to return to the field. I'll ask you a few questions about this or that; please feel free to ask me questions in return if you want, it might help you to relax. You can also try closing your eyes if you need to. If talking to me makes you uncomfortable you can try turning and talking to Steve, or holding on to something – feel free to do whatever feels comfortable to you. I checked with Garcia, you have her permission to handle anything in the room that is not her, and I quote 'uberly delicious desktop.'"

Bucky noticed she had a calm, soothing voice as he nodded his head. "Lets do this." The sooner it began to sooner it would be over.

"Alright," Charlie nodded with a reassuring expression, taking a deep breath of her own. "Before we begin, I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath. Clear your head, focus on all your other senses at the moment, what you smell, hear, feel, taste etc. We'll begin once you open your eyes. Take all the time you need."

She waited, watching as Bucky closed his eyes and take several deep breaths. Doing as she instructed he let his other senses take control. Listening intently he heard the whirr of computers in the background, the long, slow exhale of Steve's breaths – now it was his turn to be anxious. He also heard the scratch of her pen on paper as Charlie wrote something on her note pad, probably just her name. After all, how could she evaluate him sitting there with his eyes closed?

Exploring his other senses he noted the feeling of the chair's fabric beneath the fingertips of his good hand, as his other hand gripped the arm of his chair. He could still taste his last cup of coffee linger on his tongue. Wishing suddenly he had a mint on him – he probably had coffee breath. Sniffing the air around him only one scent caught his attention. All he could focus on now was the sweet fragrance of Agent Rhys' perfume. He didn't know what it was but smelled light and sweet, like flowers mixed with citrus, probably something designer but without being too expensive and flashy – just enough to be classy. He liked it. He allowed himself linger a little longer on the scent and the feeling it gave him, before finally opening his eyes, already feeling immensely calmer than before.

Once he looked in her direction she began. "We're just going to go over some of your biography just to ease you into this." Charlie explained, adjusting her seat so she focused solely on him. "Your full name is James Buchanan Barnes?"

"Yes," he replied with a nod. "Everyone calls me Bucky." He paused. "You could call me Bucky, if you want," he added with the same smooth confidence he had in his younger years, back before there was the Winter Soldier and Captain America; back in the days when Steve was Steve, a scrawny kid from Brooklyn, his best friend, and he was no one other than just Bucky. Hearing the low, audible groan he could feel Steve rolling his eyes behind him. She smiled though, just over the top of her papers as she looked at him through her bangs. It was hard to see, but she smiled as she shook her head and made a note on her paper. She had a pretty smile.

"And you were born March 20th 19 . . . wait, that can't be right. This says 1919." She looked up from her paperwork expecting some kind of explanation for what had to be some kind of joke. There was no way he could be 97 years-old.

"No, that's right." Bucky exhaled nervously, flexing his bionic hand, once, twice, three times. He caught her eyeing the flexing of the hand, and make note of something on her legal pad. What the hell did she get form that?

"Wow," she mouthed, eyeing him before looking back at the open file in her lap. "You . . .you look good." She commented in a fluster, causing a small, amused chuckle from Steve as Bucky thanked her for the compliment with an awkward bob of his head, and charming boyish grin.

She returned the smile and looked back down at the file in her lap, reading through some more of the information. "Oh dear," she muttered under her breath before looking up. "Looks like you and I are going to have a problem, Sgt. Barnes."

Exchanging a brief panicked look with Steve Bucky gulped, " and what might that be Agent?" he asked with shaking breaths.

"It says here, you're a Dodgers fan, I'm a Yankees girl." Charlie replied sucking the air in through her teeth. "That's going to be an issue," she added playfully.

A grin broke through Bucky's concern. "You have got to be kidding me. The Yanks are total garbage."

"Oh, you did not just say that to me," she shot him a surprised look. "The dodgers haven't won a title in the World Series since 1988, where as the Yankees last took the title in 2009. Let the stats speak for themselves."

"Those stats are garbage!" Bucky argued, leaning forward in his seat.

Charlie still didn't look convinced, and began arguing the point until Steve cut her off.

"Look I don't mean to interrupt, but what does this have to do with anything?" He directed his focus on Agent Rhys, breaking the enchantment she seemed to cast over Bucky – reminding him that he wasn't there to talk baseball with her. Though, it had been a rather pleasant surprise to find someone who could actually talk ball. Steve was a basketball kind of guy, and didn't know much when it came to baseball.

A thin, exasperated smile stretched across her other wise pretty features. "Captain Rogers," she addressed him losing the friendly edge she just had with Bucky. "Part of my job is to asses whether or not Sgt. Barnes' is truly 'back to his old self' or if this 'Winter Soldier' is still in there somewhere. Now part of this is done through talking about that, but other aspects of this evaluation is noting his behaviour while talking about other interests and hobbies. For example while discussing the topic of baseball Sgt Barnes was alert, engaged and enthusiastic."

"And that's a good thing, right?" Bucky asked curiously, leaning forward in his seat. She said he could ask questions.

"Yes, it is actually," she looked from Steve to Bucky. "It shows to me that you remember having a deep love for baseball, and the Dodgers. Typical behaviour I've profiled of the Winter Soldier would be to sit back, quite and withdrawn, to observe rather than engage in conversation."

"How do you I'm not faking it?" asked Bucky.

"You've been nervous and on edge for weeks, for this evaluation. You know that I determine whether or not you're allowed back into the field as an agent, or if you're stuck behind some desk. Now you grew up very active, probably heavily involved in sports, amongst other activities. Young, attractive, talented in several respects – but none of those are the reason you want back into the field. It's more than the fact that you've been conditioned in believing that failure is unacceptable and results in pain. You have a protective streak to you. You're an older sibling, but its more than that. You're protective of Steve, and your friendship with him, defensive is your default setting. You want back into the field not just because you crave action, but also due to an overwhelming desire to protect your oldest and closest friend- in your mind he is your brother, and is in need of your protection –even now. Especially now.

You are also precise, efficient, and above all else punctual – that reflects a military background. I'm not talking about the Winter Soldier. I'm talking about behaviour drilled into you during basic training. You ironed a crease into your jeans, just like how you were taught to iron the pants of your dress uniform. If I were to take a look at your bedroom I'm guessing I would see a perfectly made bed with the corners folded down, and all socks and underwear folded perfectly and stacked in your drawer. You were also an army trained sniper – that requires a certain degree of skill and in depth training, and it's a classification not easily earned which tells me your superiors saw a certain level of potential in you when you enlisted."

"You got all that from his file?" Steve asked looking over the papers in her lap trying to read what exactly was written on those pages.

Directing her attention back to Steve, Charlie answered, "no. I actually got all that by watching Sgt. Barnes for five minutes while the two of you waited in the reception area. You sat down first Captain, and rather than sit beside you, he sat across from you – making it easier for him to keep an eye on you even though he was the one undergoing the evaluation, not you. He also noted every exit within the vicinity and which ones he would have easiest access to in the event of an emergency. That tells me he values your safety over his own – all of which is behaviour typical of James Buchanan Barnes – not the Winter Soldier."

"You were deliberately late?" asked Bucky slightly annoyed. There he was seconds away from an anxiety attack in the middle of Quantico and she was off in the corner watching him sweat. He balled his metal hand into a fist and mentally ran off a list of Russian curse words he would have loved to use in that instant.

"Yes sir," nodded Charlie. "And feel free to curse if you'd like to Sgt. Barnes, I assure you, you won't hurt my feelings." She smiled politely in his direction as though she'd read his mind about the Russian curses. She thought about telling him there was nothing he could call he she hadn't heard before, but decided not to say anything more on the subject.

"You see, this evaluation began the moment you stepped on the premises. I needed to see how you'd react under pressure. It's all part of creating a profile, which what we do here in the BAU. We note behaviour through verbal and non-verbal cues, and build a profile around that." She addressed the both of them, together. "I am good at my job. I would not have been given this case if I wasn't."

"What else have you picked up?" asked Bucky, leaning in closer. The concept of profiling suddenly fascinated him.

"I'm sorry Sgt. Barnes but we really have to continue with the evaluation. All of my findings will be in a report that I will submit to Director Fury. You can request to have that report made available to you through your agency. Now, unless you or Captain Rogers have any further questions, may we continue?"

Steve looked to Bucky and shrugged. He kept is head down, even though Agent Rhys kept her tone light and friendly he still felt as though he'd been scolded by the school principal.

Charlie smiled and took it as a cue to keep going. It took a minute or two for her to build up the rapport with Bucky again, but they quickly fell back into a comfortable stride with each other.

"So how has your temper been since you started to remember who you were? Have there been any spurts of irrational anger?"

"There was, a lot in the beginning," admitted Bucky. "But not recently. At first, the more I started to remember who I was, the angrier I was about what happened to me – what they did to me. I haven't gotten over all of it yet, it's one of the things I'm working on still but it wasn't my fault, and the therapist has been helping me work through that anger." Casting a glance over in Charlie's direction he watched her write something down on the pad before she looked back at him.

"And how do you? Work through the anger, that is? What do you do when you're upset or angry?"

"I go to the gun range for some target practice, or I go to the gym and box. I just feel the need to hit something," he added the last part quietly. Certain that could not have sounded too good about him.

"James, a lot of people work through difficult emotions such as anger through physical activity," she leaned forward in her chair, to assure him. It was the first time she called him something other than Sgt. Barnes.

"What do you do?" he asked looking up from the speck he'd been staring at on the computer screen behind her. "When you're upset," he clarified. "What do you do?"

Smiling bitterly Charlie replied without hesitating, "I run the cadet course at the FBI training academy. I'm like you; I need to get physical. But I also do other things. Sometimes I go to the batting cage and practice my swing."

There was a moment in the room of tense silence. Everyone afraid to say something, to break the spell that seemed to have befallen them, no matter how uncomfortable it was. He couldn't place his finger on it, but there was something different about Agent Rhys. Something deep in his gut told Bucky that if anyone could even attempt to understand what he'd been through, it was her, but why?

Taking a deep breath, Charlie pushed through whatever was blocking her emotionally and looked back at the two men. She focused her soft green eyes on Bucky. "This next part might be difficult for you, but I need you to recall the last things you remember when you were the Winter Soldier, before Bucky started coming back."

"Agent Rhys," demanded Steve, outraged that she would ask something like that of Bucky.

Deflecting Steve's outburst by raising her hand up in his direction she swivelled in her chair to face him. "I know what you're thinking Captain, and I wish I didn't have to do this, but this is all part of the evaluation of people like Sgt. Barnes who have been through very trying experiences, I'm afraid." Sadly she turned back to face Bucky. "Whenever you're ready just close your eyes, and try to recall your last memories as the Winter Soldier, don't just focus on what you see,but what you smell, what you hear, what you're feeling. Just remember, you're in a safe space and no matter how it might feel, no one can hurt you here."

Gulping, Bucky took a few shaky breaths before resting his hands on his knees and closing his eyes. He relaxed his mind as Agent Rhys instructed, walking him through a series of steps to tap into his subconscious. A cognitive interview – that's what she called it.

It was a strange feeling, to be attempting to wade through the pool of memories he'd spent the better part of a year trying to push from his mind, only now to be actively summoning them.

"It's back on the helicarrier in DC," he described the scene unfolding in his mind out loud for everyone in the room as he slipped further into the recollection until the office around him disappeared. The only thing that existed now was the helicarrier.

"Talk to me James," Charlie urged gently. "What are you feeling? What's going through your mind?"

His heart rate spiked as he recalled the confusion, the hatred and the anger he felt seeing Steve standing in front of him, in his Captain America suit, trying to get past him. A million thoughts coursed through his mind.

"Steve's there. He's standing ten feet in front of me. He's here to bring down the carrier. I have to stop him. I can't fail. Not again. If I fail to complete this mission this time there is no telling what they'll do to punish me this time. I can't fail – I just can't."

"Do you know it's Steve? Do you recognize him as anything other than your mission?" asked Charlie in her calm voice. It was the only calm thing around him amidst the chaos, and it brought a strange comfort to him.

"Yes – and no," Bucky answered less calm, in a frightened, shaky voice. He knew that he recognized the man in front of him, but he can't bring himself to admit it. "I know I recognize him, but I don't want to, and I don't know who he is, just that I know him from somewhere."

"Why don't you want to recognize him?" Charlie inquired softly, afraid that if she spoke too loudly she'd shatter the scene and lose him to the memory for good.

"Because the last time I did-" He chokes. It's hard to actually say the words out loud, especially in front of Steve. Gulping he forces himself to continue. "The last time I recognized him, they wiped me. T-th-that's what they called it. I don't know what they do exactly I just know agony. Pain, worse than anything you can imagine, and the next thing I don't know who I am, or anything else – just my mission.

And my mission is to destroy Captain America. Only he won't shut up. He keeps insisting that he knows me – no matter how hard I hit him, he keeps talking, he keeps calling me Bucky. I don't know that name. I don't know him, but I do." Confusions and anger melded together to create an explosive display of violence as the Winter Soldier took out his rage on the man in blue who won't shut up. He doesn't know this man. He can't know this man. Knowing him means pain; it means failure, it means being locked away in the dark room again. He feared the dark room above all else.

"Shut up! I don't know you! You hear me? I . . . don't . . . know . . . you!" He's shouting, and shaking violently in his seat, running fingers through his hair and balling his fists by his head trying to push the voice from his mind. "I can't," he whimpers the last words so meekly they sound as though they came from a child, not a full grown man.

"Bucky," Charlie called out his name, over and over again until she got through to im, piercing the veil of memory while shaking his knee trying to bring him back to reality. " Bucky open you're eyes. It' all right, everything is all right. You're safe here. Look at me, just focus on me," she instructed urgently.

Quickly his eyes flashed open. He was no longer on the helicarrier but back in the tech room at Quantico. Looking around, heart still racing he noted all the stuffed animals staring back at him.

Steve looked on with concern, unsure of what to do to comfort his friend. But Charlie did. She knelt in front of him, one hand clutching his while cupping his face with the other.

"Look at me," she pleaded. "Look at me." She pulled his gaze down towards her. "There is no dark room, no one is going to put you in a dark room – you're safe. I have you. You're safe now. " Beyond reason or protocol Charlie found herself leaning forward, capturing Bucky in a comforting embrace as she tried to pull him back to reality.

Returning to a steady beat, his heart finally settled down as he clung to Charlie, kneeling on the floor before him, holding him. She got through to him. That had never happened before.

"It's over. It's all over," she assured him, pulling back from the embrace. "You did good. You did really good," she added weakly with a smile, clearly on the brink of tears. Never had an evaluation shaken her like this before. While she got back in her seat again, she never let go of his hand, almost as though she was afraid of letting go of him, of losing him to the memories. She needed to keep him with her, to keep him safe.

Shaking his head a few times as he cleared away the remnants of the memories Bucky stared at her hand in his. "Is that it?" he asked, it seemed so short.

"That's it," confirmed Charlie. She was about to say something else when a bubbly blonde woman with pink stripes in her hair dashed in and wrapped Charlie in a tight embrace. "What the hell are you doing here?" She scolded looking at Charlie through her blue-framed glasses.

"I told Hotch to clear it with you to use your office for the eval," Charlie replied looking back at the woman confused.

"No, I know that," the woman flailed. "I mean what are you doing here? Today of all days, you should be at home buried under a pile of blankets scarfing down pints of Haagen-Dazs until your sick, or in a snack-oma."

"Garcia," Charlie scolded, trying to keep the woman from continuing further in her speech. "Not now," she said with a cold, harsh edge in her otherwise warm voice. She cast a side ways glance, and motioned in their direction with their head.

"Oh, you're right, you're right," she gasped, realizing her error. Looking towards the two men, acknowledging their presence for the first time since she burst in, she started to apologize for her sudden and seemingly random intrusion. "So sorry . . . jinkies," exhaled Garcia slowly. "Wow," she looked from Steve to Bucky and back again. "You're Steve Rogers," she looked to Charlie like she'd seen a ghost, "and that's Bucky Barnes. Wow – you're even more gorgeous than I imagined."

Garcia gaped, her face flustered as she started stammering, expressing her deep and total admiration for both men. Turning to face Charlie she spoke quickly. "You're interviewing Bucky Barnes, and Captain America is sitting in my office. You did not tell me that Captain America would be sitting in my office while you were interviewing Bucky Barnes." She scolded, delighted by this turn of events. "It is an honour and a pleasure to meet you sir." She stumbled forward to shake Captain America's hand.

"Pleasure is all mine," Steve replied politely, but still a little awkward to receive such praise. Not everyone adapted to Garcia as quickly as Charlie and the other agents in the BAU. He stood to meet her none the less, always proud to meet a 'fan.'

"Oh, don't I know it," Garcia replied with her usual flirtatious flourish and a saucy wink in the Captain's direction.

"Aren't you currently one half of the fabulous BAU couple that is you and the 'dreamy' Derek Morgan?" Charlie asked folding her arms in front of her chest, unapologetically intruding on Garcia's moment.

"Yes," Garcia sighed with exasperation, as though they had been through this concept a dozen or more times. "But while I fully appreciate the delicious chocolate thunder that is my beloved Derek Morgan, he also knows that I am a woman with certain tastes and when Steve 'Mr. Wonderful' Rogers is sitting in my office – he's fair game."

Shaking her head in disbelief, chuckling, Charlie marvelled Garcia's gumption. "Alright, well if you behave I'll get Captain Wonderful's autograph for you. I'll meet you at the round table in a few minutes. We're just wrapping up."

"I can't stay?" replied Penelope, crestfallen. "This is my lair."

"No," answered Charlie firmly. "Round Table. Ten minutes," she reiterated as she gently pushed the woman out of her own office.

"Okay, but I want that damn thing to say love! None of this best wishes flibberjabber either," she warned as Charlie continued to push her out.

"I'll do what I can," Charlie promised before closing the door. Looking back to Steve and James she apologized for her colleague's behaviour.

"It's been a little crazy around here today," she explained. Walking back to her vacant chair, she picked up the abandoned file and the legal pad with all of her personal notes. "Garcia is really the best technical analyst in the Bureau, and she really is sweet – once you get to know her," chuckled Charlie uncomfortably. "Would you guys mind? I'm afraid what'll happen if I don't deliver," she held out a blank page and pen towards them."

"Not a problem," Bucky answered first, taking the pen and paper form her hand. Once he was done he passed the pad over to Steve, who followed suit. Handing the pad back to Agent Rhys, Bucky asked if she wanted one for herself as well with a cocksure grin.

"I think I'll be okay, but I know where to find you if I change my mind." Cradling the pad and file close to her chest with one hand she extended the other, first towards Steve, then towards Bucky, shaking each of their hands respectively. Escorting the men out of the office she dropped off her piles of case files and paperwork at her desk as they made their way to the elevator.

"It was a pleasure gentlemen. I should have the evaluation completed and the report filed with your Commander first thing tomorrow morning. After that it should take no more than three weeks for them to process it and get back to me if any follow up is needed." She went through the same old concluding explanations for what they could expect to happen next.

Taking a chance that somewhere he still had that old school charm he used to rely on, Bucky flashed Agent Rhys his warmest, most enchanting smile. "Would it be possible to get a copy of the report? I'd be fascinated to know what else you found during our little chat."

Returning the warmth of his smile with a single look of those forest green eyes of hers, Agent Rhys nodded. "I'll see what I can do – but it shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"Great," replied Bucky, shifting his weight on to the heels of his boots. "I'm eager to learn more about this profiling business."

"Really?" Her brows shot up in surprise. "Well, if that's the case I can suggest a few books on the matter. Depending on your interest in the matter there is 'Mind Hunters' or 'Obsession' by John Douglas and naturally any book written by my colleague, and mentor, David Rossi."

"You know, I'm never going to remember that." He hitched his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans as he shrugged offering an innocent yet impish look.

Casting a skeptical sideways look in his direction, she shook her head and pulled out a pen from the front pocket of her jeans. "Damn, no paper." She muttered looking around.

"Here," Steve offered the copy of the Washington Times he kept nestled under his arm for the interview in her direction. "You can write on this."

Grateful, she took the paper from his hands opened it to the front page. "Notorious Scottsborough Strangler Set to Die Later This Year," was the first thing to catch her eye as she looked down at the paper in her hands. Licking her lips her mouth went dry. Internally, her mind raced, as her heart thundered in her chest and her stomach slowly started twisting into so many knots she swore her pumpkin cream cheese muffin was about to come back up all over her shoes. On the outside she doubted she so much as blinked an eye as she scanned the article. Flashing a quick glance at Steve she asked: "You finished with this?"

"Yeah – keep it," he offered with a casual shrug. "I usually read the Post, anyways."

"Thanks," she slid the paper under her arm. "I forgot to buy my usual copy with my morning coffee and muffin," she added casually. That, and a cheesecake brownie she added bitterly to herself. Opening the Times to the business section she found a page with enough space on it and quickly scribbled down the list of names Bucky might be interested in. "It's not an exhaustive list – but it's a good place to start," she explained, handing over the folded paper.

"It's better than I would have found on my own. Thanks," replied Bucky taking the paper from her hand, craning his head to read what she'd written down. She had cute writing.

"Well," Charlie started, cradling the copy of the Times close to her chest, "I think you gents have it from here." Giving each man a firm, but polite smile and gentle nod she looked back over to her desk. "This was fun, but I have a mountain of not so fun paperwork calling my name now. Good Afternoon Captain Rogers, Sgt. Barnes. Best of luck to both of you."

"You too, Agent Rhys." Steve nodded firmly, his expression neutral save for a tiny twinkle that lingered in his eyes as he looked at the young woman. The same way, Bucky noted, that he used to when he addressed Peggy back in the day. Evidently, the thought of his advanced age, compared to the much younger Agent Rhys, did not bother Steve the way it had him.

Realizing he hadn't said anything, Bucky rushed a quick goodbye as he racked his brain for some reason to see her again, but at the moment he was drawing a blank. He was about to say something else, when the doors to the elevator opened behind him. Damn, he cursed to himself, out of time. Begrudgingly he stepped back into the confined space with Steve, offering Agent Rhys a final wave goodbye until the doors closed, removing her form his sight.

"Well, that was interesting," mused Steve, attempting to make small talk as they rode the elevator down to the main floor. Looking over he gave his friend a small, amused but knowing look.

"Shut up," chuckled Bucky grinning in spite of himself, "punk." Steve didn't have to elaborate further – he knew.

Charlie managed to hold off reading the paper until she sat back down at her desk. With shaking hands she scanned the front page of the article. So far so good. Continued on page 3. Opening the paper she found the giant spread taking up all of page three and most of page four as well. Damn she sighed. It was a lengthy account of the horrific crimes committed by the killer who the media had come to dub the 'Scottsborough Strangler.' It was not an article for those with a weak stomach. Charlie was not one of those people. She'd studied the Strangler case in the academy, and was somewhat of an expert on the case.

Reading the article word for word twice she couldn't keep herself from staring at one of the black and white photographs. Bastards, they always used that picture. It was a photo of a stoic looking man with dark hair and a handsome face. He was looking over his shoulder as the police escorted him away in handcuffs. In the background stood several FBI agents, and a stone faced young girl with her arms crossed in front of her chest as one of the agents placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The man was looking for her as she watched with bitter impassivity as the FBI took him away, and out of her life forever.

After a fourth time reading the article she stared helplessly back at the girl in the photograph. She's dead Charlie, that girl is gone, she reminded herself quietly before neatly folding the paper back up and tossing it to the furthest corner of her desk. Nothing but a ghost of her remains.

"Hey," a gentle whisper caught Charlie's attention, pulling her back to reality, reminding her that she still had a job to do.

"Hey," returned Charlie, looking up to find Penelope standing over by Spencer's desk- the one across from hers.

"How are you doing?" asked Garcia timidly, her usually flouncy personality absent in her voice. Instead she spoke as though she were afraid Charlie might collapse at any second, and without explanation.

"I'm managing," replied Charlie absently, looking over at the discarded newspaper on her desk.

"I got you this – thought you could do with a pick me up." Penelope handed Charlie a small paper bag with a giant smiley face drawn on a purple sticky note.

Opening the bag, Charlie spotted the cheesecake brownie she'd been craving peeking back up at her.

"Marry me?" She asked grinning back up at her friend she dropped the bag back on her desk, and got up to give Penelope the proper hug her action deserved. "Thank-you," she whispered. There was only one place in the city that made the kind of cheesecake brownie's she loved. It was at least a 20-minute drive. "How'd you know I'd need this?" Chuckled Charlie, wiping any traces of tears from her eyes.

"I saw the look on your face in the eval. You know, before I kind of came bursting in. You have been busting baddies here with the team for years and as a result you have seen the very worst without batting one of your unnaturally long eyelashes – but today, in that room. I don't know. You were shaken, and I knew you needed this."

Focusing on the cyan blue flower clips Garcia had woven into her hair. Charlie avoided the stunned yet concerned look Penelope was giving her that resembled Bambi watching his mother getting shot. "Hotch called," reported Garcia quietly. "While you were conducting the eval. He wants you in Indiana ASAP tomorrow morning. It's worse than they thought over there. They – uh- found three of the five missing girl's bodies, the fourth was found alive – they want you there for a sketch, and a sixth girl has been taken."

Gulping hard, Charlie nodded in agreement. The dark criminal underworld would not take a break just because she was having a rough go of it. She was still slightly shaken by what she'd seen in the eval, couple that with the feeling she had gnawing at the pit of her stomach after reading the article in the paper she really needed to 'just hit something.'

"When I look at him I see me," she answered the question Penelope had been too polite to ask. When she looked up into those troubled blue eyes she didn't see James Buchanan Barnes. She saw herself reflected in him, and it shook her to her very core.

There was no reason to ask why. Everyone who knew Charlie knew why she, more than anyone else, could relate to the super soldier. Could that be the real reason why Hotch wanted her to perform the eval? She could empathize with the former soldier? Because she recognized the look of a man haunted by the ghosts of the past? It was a look she wore on a daily basis and had for over half her life now, and as a result could see it in others now.

"I need to get out of here," she declared after taking a moment to let the dust of her revelation settle. "Can you tell Hotch, when he calls, that I'll get the paperwork for Sgt. Barnes' eval finished on the plane to Indiana. I need to hit the training course," tossing the crumpled paper in to the waste basket by her desk, she stood and grabbed the keys for her locker from the desk drawer. There was no point in torturing herself further with the article. She gleaned all the details she needed from it by her third pass over of it anyways.

"Sure thing," replied Garcia in her tiny, soft voice, eying the paper in the trash bin. "Charlie?" She asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?" Charlie looked over her shoulder.

"Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight? I don't think you should be alone. I know you have this whole tough girl thing, so people don't ask questions, and I love you for that. Not for being a badass well I love you for that too, but for being such a sweet, gooey marshmallow wrapped in badassery just so everyone doesn't worry about you. But with everything that's going on and the media – I don't think you should go back to your apartment."

"I have a spare key to Spencer's. I was planning on crashing on his couch, and laying low there until this blows over."

"Well I was thinking, since my gorgeous Derek isn't going to be home tonight – why don't you stay with me? It'll be a blast. We'll make it like a dumb girly sleepover like the ones in the movies where we order deliciously crappy take out, make cookies, and watch trashy romantic comedies while making fun of the crappy dialogue in our pyjama's."

"That sounds fun. Thanks Penelope." Maybe it wasn't her ideal night, but it sure as hell beat out sitting on Reid's couch by herself, rereading one of his books on theoretical physics. Besides, it could be just the thing she needed to take her mind off things.

"Yay," Garcia bounced happily on the spot. "We can even watch that creepy curse of the mummy movie you love so much – the reason why is totally beyond me, but that doesn't matter because it has a nude scene and the guy is so totally ripped that it almost makes up for the bad effects and cheesy plot."

Chuckling, Charlie shook her head. "I love you, Garcia."

"Back at you my little cornbread, hush puppy," replied Garcia with a bob. "Ooh, speaking of being totally ripped and sinfully delicious. Sgt. Dreamboat incoming at twelve o'clock," whispered Garcia with a devilish smirk.

"What?" asked Charlie, shooting her a clueless look.

Garcia motioned for Charlie to look behind her with a twirl of her finger, while simultaneously making her most interested, seductive face. Looking down the bridge of her nose she stared over the top of her glasses as the footsteps behind Charlie grew louder.

Following Garcia's cue, Charlie turned to find James standing behind her. "Sgt. Barnes," she greeted him with surprise. "This is unexpected. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry." He stood awkwardly, uncomfortable around the young agent without any obvious reason or purpose to be conversing with her.

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" she asked confused. Was he apologizing for what happened during the eval? That was hardly something to apologize for. In fact, she should be the only apologizing for being forced to emotionally traumatize him as a part of her job.

"For whatever's got you upset," he explained quietly. "I –uh- forgot something in the office, and I overheard you talking. You mentioned in the eval that you like to run the cadet training course when you're upset. Whatever it is, I'm sorry."

Charlie stared back at him slightly taken aback by his keen observation. That was unexpected. It also changed everything. "That's very kind of you Sgt. Barnes. Thank-you," she said with a genuinely appreciative smile. This was a first.

"Um," he stuttered, finding it difficult to actually get the words out. Scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand he looked back up at her. It all seemed like a good idea back at the elevator. Pretend to forget something, find a reason to talk to her, and ask her out, simple. But now that he was actually standing in front of her, he wasn't so sure. What the hell was wrong with him? He used to be good at this. "There was something else too. Without coming off as a totally insensitive ass, I was wondering, if it was okay with you, if I might call on you sometime?"

"Oh I hate you," huffed Garcia instantly, looking at Charlie. "You are totally living out my Hollywood noir fantasy," she accused the otherwise mentally preoccupied Charlie.

"Don't you have some database to be searching?" replied Charlie looking over at her friend, shooting her a 'out of here – now!' look. The last thing she wanted, or needed, at the moment was an audience.

Taking the hint, Garcia backed off. Not far however, just over to the next desk so she avoided Charlie's peripheral vision. She was still close enough to hear everything going on. She could not pay to find dirt this juicy, even on Netflix.

"James," Charlie exhaled slowly turning back to address him. Looking up at those baby blue puppy dog eyes, so eager and vulnerable, she found it incredibly hard to breath, let alone speak. " I can't be romantically involved with anyone I'm evaluating. It creates complications that could undermine my findings. Please, tell me you understand?"

"So that's a no," he softly whispered, looking down. It was a long shot to begin with, and he knew it too. Had he not tried he would have regretted it, but it did not soften the blow any less. He just had this unsinkable feeling, and now he was capsizing. But he understood, and he couldn't fault her – this was her job.

"No," she chuckled. Leaning comfortably against her desk she watched him, amused.

"So that's a yes?" asked Bucky, his head jerked up. His heart raced as he waited for clarification. The sinking feeling gone as his heart floated away with his head.

"No," laughed Charlie, her little secret hidden in creases of her smiles. If only he knew how to decode this enigma.

"So what is it then?" He mused with a lopsided grin, shoving his hands awkwardly in his pockets. Was he actually nervous around a girl? God, when was the last time that had happened? Whatever he was feeling, nervous or otherwise, he liked it.

"You'll figure it out," she assured him, patting his chest in such a friendly, familiar fashion an outsider might think they'd known each other their entire lives, and not realize that three hours ago they were relative strangers. Without another word she walked away, leaving both Garcia and James stunned and in her wake.

Stepping into the idle elevator she could practically hear the smile in his voice as he promised to solve her little riddle. Catching one final glimpse of him as the doors closed she couldn't help one last smile when she saw the hopeful look on his face.

She doubted she would ever see Sgt. Barnes again. She didn't have any means of contacting him, aside from going through his director. And he certainly had no means of contacting her. DC was a big city, and they were agents in two different agencies, not a career path that was known to be compatible with social lives. Fact was that relationships and marriages were the number one casualty in the FBI. It remained highly unlikely they would cross paths again.

Still, it was nice to dream.


	3. The Agent

Sitting on a back turned chair at one of the corner booths in the dimly lit bar, Charlie lost herself in the conversation and music blaring over the speaker system. The BAU returned to Qunatico fresh from their case in Indiana when Morgan suggested they regroup, and go out to blow off steam. So, two hours later there they were, Prentiss, Reid, Hotch and Beth, Garcia and Morgan, JJ and Will, Rossi, and Charlie sitting in a cramped corner booth, enjoying several hard earned drinks.

The BAU off the clock was always a rare sight to behold. Not that the term 'relax' was actually in their vernacular. Even when they weren't hunting societies answer to the question of monsters, they found a way of taking them with them, usually by talking about them in their day to day life, even going so far as to turning them into a drinking game. Who knew how the game started all those years ago, whether it was Morgan's way of flirting and teasing academy trainees or if it was Reid and Rhys' way of showing off their equally impressive memories. No matter how it got its start, 'name that killer' still remained their favourite drinking game.

"Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka," shouted Spencer, slamming his palm on the table, gleeful that he managed to beat Charlie and Rossi to the answer. "Drink!" he taunted sitting smugly in his chair.

"Yeah, yeah," Charlie shot back, "we'll see how smug you are by the end of the game there, little brother," she added before taking a sip from her bottle. "I'll catch up to you – I always do."

"You guys sure have a strange idea of fun," laughed Beth after finishing a shot of tequila.

"You mean normal people don't sit around naming and identifying serial killers based on abstract details?" asked Emily feigning surprise. "How odd?"

"As much as I would love to watch Charlie make Reid her bitch again, I agree with Beth," Garcia announced. "Can we lighten up on the icky for a night. I would like to actually enjoy the fact that my signature brand of stud muffin is finally back in my loving arms, and serial killers are so not sexy."

"No, but they are," Emily tilted her head in the direction of the door where three men walked through the door. Their backs remained turned to the group as they hunted for a table in the busy bar. Without seeing their faces all they could tell was that all three men had equally impressive physiques. "Come to momma," Prentiss let out a low whistle, jostling Charlie lightly in the ribs.

"You should go talk to them," suggested JJ, giving Charlie a bump of her shoulder and flirtatious smile.

"Yeah right," scoffed Charlie taking another sip, toying with the near empty bottle in her hands.

"Seriously, when was the last time you even had a date?" Morgan asked, leaning forward from his seat in the booth.

"I had a hot date just last weekend," countered Charlie quickly. "We never even left the bedroom." She purred and lifted her brows in Morgan's direction.

"Now that is my kind of date," grinned Garcia approvingly.

"And does this stud have a name?" asked Morgan flirtatiously with a hint of skepticism.

"Mr. Christie," admitted Charlie, bowing her head slightly with mock shame. "Alright so it wasn't so much as date as it was me with a box of double stuffed Oreo's. We sat on the bed and marathoned Netflix. I'm sorry, but I think that counts." Her hands flew up in defence. "Besides, why are you so focused on me? I'm not the only single one here. Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are single too. Why don't you pick on one of them?"

"Rossi's been married. We're not even sure Reid is human, and Prentiss is a lost cause," Morgan grinned before Prentiss and Garcia smacked him simultaneously.

"Oh my god," Garcia breathed quickly reaching over across the table, smacking Charlie's arm several times.

"Okay ow!" replied Charlie leaning back out of Penelope's reach, until she was practically in Reid's lap. "What's with the hitting all of a sudden?"

Turning to face Charlie, Garcia's face split into a giant grin. "Do you believe in destiny? Because that is exactly what has happened right here, right now." Reading the confusion on the rest of her companion's faces, Garcia took that as a cue to continue. "Believe it or not, one of those mega hunks, who have so mercifully decided to grace us with their presence in this bar, is none other than Sgt. Dreamboat."

"What?" Charlie asked quickly turning to look behind her, nearly knocking her bottle over in her haste. She saw the guys Garcia was talking about. There was a blonde with short, thick hair and broad shoulders he could pass for Steve from behind, but she wasn't sure. He sat with his two friends over by the darts board and had his back to Charlie. Travis was over there handing the three of them pony neck beers. The first beer went to the blonde. The second beer went to a brunet who also had his back turned to Charlie, he also wore a long sleeve shirt and kept his left hand hidden from sight, obscuring her ability to see if it was in fact James. The only one of the trio to actually face them was a dark skinned man Charlie didn't recognize, he had a kind face though.

"Who exactly is Sgt. Dreamboat?" asked Rossi suddenly interested in the conversation. He craned his neck a little to take a good look at the men everyone else was talking about.

"The guy Charlie did the psych eval on before joining you guys in Indiana. You should have seen them, and the way they were sparking all over the office."

"There was no sparking," argued Charlie, turning back to face her friends. She didn't need anyone thinking she had been anything less than professional during the eval, and having the file deferred to another agent. Besides, she couldn't get a good enough look of them to see if he was really there. But there was no way the brunet sitting over there could be him – what were the chances? Reid would know. She just didn't feel like asking him, and getting him started on some long winded tirade about bar statistics, and chance encounters. She'd save that conversation the next time she had trouble getting to sleep on the jet.

"Oh, please," Garcia snorted in derision. "You two sparked so much you nearly burned down Quantico."

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Morgan nodded in approval. "Look at you working it during an eval Little Miss Hot Stuff."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Charlie shrugged them off with another swig from her bottle.

"Oh, you are so full of it," laughed Emily teasingly. "Your eyes totally lit up when Garcia mentioned him, you're practically glowing just talking about him."

"Pupils seem to be dilated, and pulse appears to be racing," observed Reid, reluctantly joining the conversation. "All signs of sexual attraction."

"How the hell can you tell my pulse is racing from over there?" demanded Charlie.

"Not to mention you have looked in their direction six times in the last two minutes trying to get a glimpse of him." JJ piled on. "You should go for it. From what I saw, he's gorgeous."

"Look at the way she's blushing," Beth shrieked, joining the girls in a little bit of harmless teasing of Charlie. "You like him like him."

Draining the last sip from her bottle Charlie gave her head a shake. "I hate profilers," she muttered under her breath, causing everyone to chuckle. Even Aaron cracked a rare Hotchner smile. Getting up from the table she looked around the table, taking stock of drinks. "I'm getting a round."

"You're not going over to talk to him?" Garcia asked crestfallen.

"Nope," replied Charlie adjusting the sleeves of her plaid shirt. Charlie Rhys did not chase men, they came to her, and James Buchanan Barnes would be no exception.

"Well if you don't want him, can I have him?" Emily called out hopefully, looking over at the table once more. There was no doubt in their mind now that it was in fact the guy Charlie had performed the eval for, and that there was something going on between them.

"You wish," Charlie called back over her shoulder, flashing them a cheeky grin as she sauntered towards the bar.

* * *

Guy's night. That's what Steve called it when he convinced Bucky to come out with him and Sam tonight. Bucky had been set to just hang around the apartment maybe catch the game on tv, or check out Netflix now that Steve finally caved and got a subscription, when Steve handed him a dress shirt, and informed him they were going out. Apparently someone told Sam about this great little hole in the wall bar they should try. The owner was a Green Beret turned bar tender who understood the importance of a good, strong drink, and preferred to cater to his brothers in arms.

At the time he cursed the thought of leaving the comfort of his couch, and sweatpants, but now that he was there with Sam and Steve he was glad he listened to their advice. The last few days had not been pleasant as he stewed away, waiting to hear back about the results of his evaluation. Didn't help that every time he closed his eyes he was treated to images of pale green eyes, and long brown hair smiling sweetly at him, embracing him, comforting him. If only he knew how to get in touch with her again. But now that he was out of the apartment, he found he was actually enjoying himself, and remembered what it felt like to have fun again.

"Uh, we didn't order those," Sam pointed at the tray of drinks Travis, the bartender, brought over to them.

"I know boys," he gruffed. "Your round was paid for by a friend."

"Nice friend," Sam marvelled passing Bucky a scotch on the rocks before taking his pint. Someone knew their drink orders even though they had started the night out with beers - and none of it was cheap.

"This friend give any clue as to who they might be?" wondered Steve looking around the darkened bar half expecting to see Tony or Natasha sitting around somewhere, smirking at their confusion.

"Said to tell you it's from a fan of a real baseball team."

The words struck Bucky as odd, until a thought occurred to him. No, he thought quickly turning in his seat, scanning the bar. In his second pass over he spotted it. A back turned Yankees cap, with long brown hair, sitting over at a booth at the other end of the bar. He wasn't entirely sure he was seeing correctly until he spotted the blonde woman. The one who came bursting in at the end of his eval; the one named Garcia. The table was full with faces he didn't recognize, so full that Charlie couldn't even fit in the booth, she was sitting at the end of a table in a back facing chair.

Getting up from the table without another word to Steve or Sam, Bucky walked across the crowded bar. He had to see for himself if it was her, if this was real. As he approached he could hear laughter – her laughter. A smile broke out on his face once he got close enough to interrupt the conversation. Tonight was really starting to look up.

"You know, that's mighty big talk coming from a Yankees fan," said Bucky nodding to the Garcia woman before looking at the side profile of his profiler. "What's with the round?"

Charlie continued to look forward for a second, but there was no mistaking the giant grin breaking on her face as she turned to face him. Leaning one arm on the table she looked at him. "Thought that'd get your attention," she replied cheekily. "Figured you could do with some consolation considering the Braves whooped the Dodgers' ass this week, and now your team in bottom in the series. You gotta face it Superman, you either gotta go Yankees or admit you ain't a real New Yorker."

"There's always the Mets," Will offered, unaware of just how unwelcomed his intrusion was in the conversation.

"The Mets are garbage," Bucky and Charlie replied in unison, causing Garcia to squeal slightly under her breath. She was already mentally drawing little hearts around them, and planning the cake they'd serve at their wedding. So far she was thinking chocolate with raspberry filling and marzipan frosting, depending how Bucky felt about raspberry over strawberry.

"You out with the boys?" mused Charlie looking back over at Steve and their other friend. Both of them stared at Bucky, Steve sporting a completely stunned expression as he undoubtedly explained who Charlie was, and why Bucky had come over. The other fellow nodded with a teasing, knowing smile. He'd been talking about her to his friends. Interesting.

"Yeah. Guy's night. Someone told Sam about this place said it was pretty good for people like us - Army Vets." He looked down at her casually before adding, "now I get the appeal," he added smoothly with a charming grin. "What about you?"

"Celebrating," Charlie shrugged casually. "Just finished a case," she explained before introducing Bucky to the rest of her team, and their respected significant others, only Reid was missing from the table, but perhaps it was best they save him for last. He had an effect on people. "And of course, you remember Garcia," Charlie sighed as Garcia purred, and offered Bucky a saucy little wink. "Everyone, this is Sgt. James Barnes," she said, finishing with the introductions.

Bucky nodded in the team's direction, giving them his most charming smile. "I should probably head back. I just wanted to come by and thank you personally for the drinks."

"Any time," Charlie flashed him a charming little smile that made her eyes dance.

"Did you and your friends want to join us?" Morgan offered, joining in the conversation. Technically Charlie was prevented professionally from asking James and his friends to join them, but there was nothing stopping him from doing it. Besides, the last time he saw Charlie smile at a guy so much she was playing peek a boo with Henry when he was still a toddler.

"Yes," Garcia replied quickly, ushering James to pull up a chair. Both Charlie and Bucky chuckled at her colleague's enthusiasm.

"I dunno if you're table's gonna fit us all," Bucky replied, trying hard to mask his disappointment. The booth barely fit the entirety of Charlie's team; there was no way they'd be able to squeeze in three more people – especially when two of those three were super soldiers. But he wanted nothing more than to have another chance to sit and chat with Charlie again, preferably a chance that did not involve her judging him and having to relive past traumas.

"We can always push two together. Travis won't mind. Do you Trav?" Charlie hollered over her shoulder in the bartender's direction.

Travis looked up from his bar in Charlie's direction, and yelled something back to her in a tongue, spoken too fast for Bucky to understand. But Charlie seemed to know what he was saying because she responded in a similar fashion before getting up from the table. "You wanna grab that?" she motioned over to the next table.

Immediately Bucky leapt at the opportunity to help. With an eager grin, he dragged over the circular table before motioning for Steve and Sam to come on over and join them at their new, larger table.

"Evening Captain," Charlie offered Steve a playful little salute as he took a seat on Bucky's other side while Sam sat nestled between Steve and an Agent Prentiss.

"Agent Rhys," Steve greeted her politely, shooting Buck a knowing grin. Bucky rolled his eyes and mouthed, 'shut up' in return.

"Hey, sorry I took so long – the line at the bar was ridiculous," Reid apologized before setting down another pitcher of beer, before sliding another bottle towards Charlie, "they were out of root beer, so I got you ginger ale instead," he added before taking his seat between Charlie and Rossi. Sitting down he noticed the three unfamiliar faces sitting at their table for the first time. Puzzled he looked to Charlie for clarification.

Charlie quickly made the introductions with a hesitant smile, never fully taking her eyes off Reid.

"And now you've met twins," Rossi laughed watching the way Charlie glared at Reid, trying to get him to be shut up. He was currently carrying on about the sanitation irregularities in establishments like the bar, and how it would be more hygienic to go around kissing people – this was after Sam tried shaking his hand of course.

"Twins?" Steve asked in surprise looking over at the two. They looked nothing alike. "They allow twins to work together in the FBI?"

"We're not related," Charlie answered before Reid had the chance to respond. "Reid and I met in the academy, and we happen to be the babies on the team," she added, referring to their younger age in comparison to the rest of the team.

"There's that," Garcia nodded, "and also the incredible crazy fact you two share a birthday."

"Really?" Sam asked surprised.

"No. You don't get it," Garcia corrected excitedly, "I'm talking same day, same month, same year – same hour."

"Maybe you two really are twins," Sam laughed at the coincidence, looking at the two agents.

"Not possible," Reid insisted, setting his beer back onto the coaster. "I was born at 9:08 am October 9th in Las Vegas. Charlie was born 9:47 in Memphis. In order for that to have happened my mother would have had to . . ."

"Reid!" Charlie cut him off quickly. "You're boring Captain Rogers, and his friends."

"Captain Rogers? As in Captain Steve Rogers?" he asked excitedly before looking at Steve again. "You're Captain America," he breathed in disbelief. Then looking at the others he immediately recognized their faces as well. "You're falcon," he pointed at Sam, "and that means you're Bucky Barnes. Wow. B-bi-big fan!" he prattled excitedly, now more than eager to shake their hands. Calling Steve and Sam by their monikers, the rest of the table seemed to clue into whom they had the pleasure of sitting with.

"Does everyone know who you are, aside from me?" Charlie asked, leaning close to Bucky.

"You don't know who Captain America is?" Reid practically shrieked in her ear.

"Okay, ow," she grumbled hitting him on the arm before rubbing her ear. "I'm not going to be able to hear for a week."

"How can you not know who Captain America is? The Avengers? The attack in New York a few years ago?" Garcia explained trying to jog her friend's memory.

"Oh," Charlie exhaled excitedly before deadpanning, "yeah, I missed that."

"How did you miss that?" Steve asked incredulously. He didn't mean to come off so rude; it was just that, how did someone simply miss a mass alien attack that nearly wiped out the city of New York?

"Probably because I was elbow deep in mass graves in Guatemala," replied Charlie coolly, taking a sip from her bottle.

"Not Guatemala," Reid corrected. "That was 2014, during the collapse of SHIELD and the Hydra conspiracy. The New York attack was in 2012 – you were in Rwanda."

"Right," Charlie snapped her fingers, memory jogged. "Can't believe I mixed those two up."

"What were you doing in Guatemala and Rwanda?" asked Sam. "Doesn't the FBI just stick to the states?"

"We do," Hotch clarified, weighing in on the conversation. "Neither of those were FBI related."

"I do a lot of work for an Non-Governmental Organization during my vacation time," Charlie explained, taking over the conversation from Hotch. "Kind of like a Forensics Without Borders. We travel all over the world with a team of experts in varying fields, and work on identifying victims of genocide based on skeletal evidence, teaching profiling, and other investigative techniques to the local law enforcement."

"You call that a vacation?" Sam cast her a dubious glance. "Sounds like you need a crash course on relaxation."

Charlie laughed at his assessment, and tried to keep herself from saying that everyone in the BAU would probably benefit from that course. None of them were exactly prone to relaxing, even on vacation. The first few days were nice, but by the end of the first week their bodies hummed with the anticipation of returning to work. They craved the adrenaline that came with the job.

"Believe me, it's not all morbid," a fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalled a few memories from her travels, "there's dancing in the moonlight, smooth jazz, trips out to the wild life preserves, teaching art to some of the local kids."

"Isn't it kind of hard to profile skeletal remains?" Bucky tried to picture what she could tell from a pile of bones. Everything he'd read about profiling, aside from victimology, required the subject to be . . . well . . . living.

"I do more than just profiling," answered Charlie. "I was the BAU's doodle monkey before taking the profiling training courses."

"That's Charlie's way of saying she's a forensic artist," Rossi translated for them as Charlie shot him an impish smirk.

"Charlie is kind of like a go between," JJ explained. As the media, and police liaison, she was also in charge of Charlie's scheduling, making sure she was where she was needed when the local PD or another field office requested her presence. "She works mostly out of the BAU, but we lend her out to other field offices or agencies when she's needed."

"Way to make me sound like a library book, there JJ," Charlie teased giving her a playful, dirty look before changing the conversation to something else. That was one thing Bucky noticed about Agent Rhys - she never kept the conversation on her for very long.

* * *

After a while the group descended into fractured conversations. Reid and Garcia were completely captivated by Steve as he spoke, rather modestly, about his exploits with SHIELD and the Avengers. Sam, Emily and Morgan talked sports with Rossi, while both Hotch, and JJ left with their dates to go home and be with their kids. That left Charlie and Bucky in their own little conversational bubble.

"So, you wanna tell me what language that was you were speaking with the bartender?" Bucky wondered, taking the last sip of his scotch.

"You ever heard of Louisianan Creole?" She asked taking a sip from her bottle of ginger ale.

"No," Bucky shook his head. He sat forward in his seat, suddenly eager to learn more about it.

"Travis is from Louisiana, grew up speaking Creole French. I picked it up when I lived in New Orleans."

Bucky noticed the way Charlie adapted a Louisiana accent as soon as she said New Orleans. She sounded as though she'd lived there her entire life with the ease she flitted between accents. He wondered how long she lived there – when did she move? Before he could ask she stopped him as she over heard Reid's current fanboying over something Bucky and Steve had done during the days of the Howling Commando.

"I swear, Reid's in love," Charlie laughed, leaning back in her seat. "Can we be expecting a happy announcement from y'all by the end of the week?"

"What was that?" Bucky brightened suddenly, nudging her playfully.

"What?" her voice returned to what he had thought had been her natural accent.

"That word – y'all," he tried mimicking the southern drawl he heard come from her seconds earlier. He couldn't get it right though - he never was any good at accents.

"You caught me," she laughed throwing her hands up in surrender. "I might have a slight Southern accent," she confessed. The truth was bound to come out sooner or later. Might as well get the teasing over with now.

"Can I hear it?" he asked flashing her an innocent, eager grin. He'd never actually met anyone with a southern accent. During the war he heard plenty of British, French, German, even the odd Italian accent, and then of course Russian had become engrained in his mind – but Southern? Never.

"Alright fine," Charlie allowed her natural twang to slip through. "But only if I get to hear that Brooklyn accent of yours later."

Bucky couldn't fight the smile spreading on his face. It had to be the most adorable accent he'd ever heard; it wasn't the same kind of nasally drawn out twang he'd heard on television, but it was softer, sweeter. "Where is that even from?" he asked, before attempting to pinpoint the state, afraid he'd get it wrong and offend her. That was a major faux pas in New York. Saying someone was from Brooklyn when they were actually from Manhattan was a good way to get your face rearranged; he wasn't sure, but he had a feeling it was the same, if not worse, with the Southern states.

"Tennessee," Charlie explained. "I grew up in Scottsborough, just outside Memphis," she added, but with the way she spoke Scottsborough came out Scottsburra. The name sounded familiar. He could have sworn he just read something about Scottsborough Tennessee. Maybe it had come up in conversation with someone? Did they have a sports team win some cup?

"Why cover it up?" Bucky whispered, leaning in. If she hid her accent on a day to day basis, then maybe her colleagues didn't know she had it? Or if they did they probably teased her for it – talking different. Either way she didn't seem too keen on people hearing the natural way she spoke.

"I ain't playing with a half deck," Charlie sighed softly. "I know what people think about folk from the South. Y'all think that just cause we talk slow down South we gotta be slow in the head too. Now, who is gonna take a federal agent seriously if they hear them talking like this? Answer: no one. So when I moved here from New Orleans, I learned how to talk like y'all. Now a days, most people can't even tell I wasn't born and raised up North."

"You had me fooled," Bucky whispered as he leaned in, letting his Brooklyn accent come out thick. The smile lighting up Charlie's face was more than enough reward. He hadn't talked like that in ages. Unlike Agent Rhys, he hadn't changed the way he talked deliberately, it just happened over time.

"That was kind of the point," Charlie added, peeling the label off her bottle

"Charlie's talking Southern," Garcia squealed in delight. "Charlie's talking Southern." Drawing everyone's attention to the fact that Charlie did in fact speak with an accent.

"Come on hot stuff, say something Cowboy for us," Morgan teased. Catching Charlie with her southern accent was like catching Haley's comet – it only happened every seventy years or so. But when it did happen, it was a glorious day and needed to be taken advantage of.

"All y'all can go to hell," Charlie scolded her team before polishing off the rest of her drink.

"Whoa, whoa, who invited the Colonel?" Sam joined in on the teasing with a friendly smile.

"Very funny," Charlie rolled her eyes. "I'm from Tennessee not Kentucky. And Penelope before you even think about making some wise ass comment about the way I talk, you remember I'm the one appointin' your fitness advisor for y'alls' field test, and I ain't afraid to assign you to Morgan."

Garcia rapidly closed her mouth and a minor look of terror passed over her face as she looked from Charlie to her boyfriend. Spencer cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking at Charlie with a mildly panicked expression.

"Relax little brother, you're with me."

"So what's it like talking in a different accent all day?" inquired Steve curiously having caught snippets of Bucky's conversation with Charlie from earlier. He'd never met anyone who purposely hid the way the spoke. There was Natasha, but her Russian accent had naturally faded after coming to the States.

Charlie sat, contemplating her answer before finally replying, "It's like taking off your shoes after a long day. You're not really uncomfortable, but Lord have mercy when you're walking around in your stockings if that ain't the most relaxing feeling in the world."

"Well I think everyone could do with a top up," Rossi announced, quickly changing the topic of conversation before Charlie got flustered with all the attention on the way she spoke. "Where did we land in our little game?"

"Reid and Rhys are tied," Morgan pointed in their direction.

"Game? What we playing?" Sam asked, rubbing his hands together excitedly. He revelled for the opportunity to finally beat Steve and Bucky at something.

"Name that killer," Charlie winced as she said that name out loud, after seeing the trio of dubious looks being cast her way.

"Oh, what the hell is that?" Sam exchanged worried looks with Steve, wondering who the hell Bucky was getting them involved with.

"Basically you describe a case, and try to name serial killer based on the details. The first person to name the killer, and as many details as possible wins, and everyone else drinks; the one with the least points pays the tab." Prentiss explained the game in as broad terms as possible to the trio.

Steve and Sam looked confused as to why anyone would ever want to play such a game while Bucky couldn't help but look at Charlie, and feel a little impressed. Morgan said she was tied for first, against a genius with total recall.

"For example, all his victims were African-American women between the ages of 19-41, arrested 12 times, the first for reckless endangerment in 1981 he served five – "

"Walter E. Ellis, also known as "The Milwaukee North Side Strangler"; convicted of killing 7 prostitutes in Wisconsin between 1986 and 2007. Died in prison on December 1, 2013, " Charlie slammed her fingers on the table, blurring her words together in her excitement. "Drink, my bitches," she snapped her fingers, shooting Reid a cocky grin. "Told you I'd catch up, little brother."

"Not fair, I didn't know we were actually playing," Reid protested before taking a begrudging swig of his beer.

"And Rhys takes the lead with 17 to Pretty Boy's 16," Morgan acted as a sports commentator as he ran through the tables stats. Garcia was in dead last with zero, though she claimed not to actually play due to the unbelievable ick factor of the game.

"You invent that crash course of relaxation, and you'll make a killing at the BAU," joked Charlie looking at the mildly horrified look on Sam's face. "Do we know how to party or what?" she laughed nervously.

"You guys wanna give it try?" Rossi asked setting his scotch back on the table after nearly finishing the glass.

"Why the hell not," Sam shrugged. Losing to a group of FBI profilers at name that killer couldn't be anymore embarrassing than being out lapped by a pair of ninety year-old super soldiers on a daily basis. At least here he was on equal footing with Steve and Bucky. "Can we list international ones too – or are we just sticking with American?"

"We can go international," Charlie shrugged in agreement. "I won the last round, so now I go, or I can pass it to someone else." She paused, chewing the skin around her thumbnail until her tongue was met with the coppery taste of blood. "Alright, I got one. Horse trader who killed 33 men, he was executed in 1923."

"Wolf of Moscow – Vasili Komaroff," answered Reid in the same excited manner as Charlie. He proceeded to fire off the same kind of abstract details Charlie and Rossi had.

After a couple rounds both Steve and Sam had gotten a couple right. They had a feeling, however, the profilers were taking it easy on them by listing obvious details, and not answering under rapid fire the way the usually did. It was a surprisingly fun game to play.

Bucky kept to himself. He preferred watching Charlie from the corner of his eye with a fascinated, boyish grin plastered on his face; watching the way her entire face lit up as she rattled off in depth answers, and the smug satisfaction she had when she beat Reid to an answer. She was competitive. He liked that. Reid had just beat her though, but she still led with three points.

"Born in Scottsborough Tennessee."

"Reid," Prentiss tried cutting him off, staring in Charlie's direction, as the colour drained from her face.

"Killing 36 women of different racial backgrounds he is considered the most prolific serial killer of our generation."

"Uh, Einstein," Rossi cleared his throat, also eying Charlie nervously. Charlie also watched Reid with absolute neutrality.

Bucky didn't know what was going on with the profilers, but he didn't like it. He saw the way Charlie grew smaller with ever word out of Spencer's mouth, and the alarmed looks of panic on her colleagues faces. He could feel his protective nature kicking into overdrive, wanting to shield Charlie from whatever it was that was upsetting her - only he didn't know how, or what to do to make it all stop. Powerless, he sat back and waited for the inevitable crash.

"This killer listened to Bruce Springsteen as he strangled women with nylon ropes," Reid continued, oblivious to his teammates' desperate bid for his attention.

"Reid!" Morgan cried angrily, slamming his hand on the table. "Come on man!" He motioned for Reid to look at Charlie, who now sat rode straight with her head bowed, staring straight ahead, eyes trained on some invisible spot on the table.

Charlie Rhys was not currently present – perhaps physically, but the rest of her was gone. She was tucked away somewhere in her mind, a million miles beneath the surface.

Pausing, Reid gulped, looking at Charlie horrified. "Oh my . . . Charlie." The colour drained from his face as he started choking on his words. "I'm so sorry, I didn't . . . I didn't mean to . . . I wasn't thinking . . . I am so sorry."

"It's alright, little brother. I'm fine," Charlie attempted to assure him, but her voice didn't come out right. It was strained, and off pitch, like she'd swallowed a dog's squeak toy. All eyes were on her, she could feel them burrowing into her. Five sets of eyes stared at her, heavy with pity, and three in sheer confusion.

"Well, it's official," Derek sighed. "Reid is settling the tab for the night."

"Yup," Emily agreed morosely.

"Um, am I missing something?" Steve spoke hesitantly, unsure as to what caused the sudden hush to fall over the table. They had been boisterous and enthusiastic seconds earlier. No one had actually answered the question, but Reid seemed to have committed some egregious error against Charlie.

"Reid broke the cardinal rule of Name that Killer," Garcia squeaked not taking her eyes off Charlie.

"Which is?" Steve asked. Trying to get an explanation from this team was like trying to pull teeth with your bare fingers, and no novocaine - slippery and painful.

"Never, ever, mention personal cases in the game," Emily explained. They never mentioned Foyet around Hotch, Hankel with Reid. Everyone on the team had their personal demon, a case that left them scarred and a little broken – but Charlie's was by far the worst.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie kept her voice relatively steady as she answered Reid's clue. "Springsteen Strangler. Active for nine years; currently on death row for 36 counts of murder; set to die September 26th. His name is Lewis Rhys, a farmer and mechanic from Scottsborough Tennessee."

She could feel Bucky tense next to her, catching it from the corner of her eye. He sat a little straighter in his seat. He knew she was from Scottsborough, and her last name was Rhys. She could feel he weight of his gaze on her as the pieces fell together, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him when it all finally clicked.

"He brought women back to his barn where he strangled, and later dismembered them to make for easier burial. The media called his victims," she paused, grimacing, "Rhys' pieces. He loved baseball – the Braves especially – and every Sunday he ate his favourite dinner – fried chicken, with okra and biscuits. He has a daughter." Her voice cracked slightly as she continued staring straight ahead. "She was fifteen when he was arrested, and hasn't seen him since. Her name is Charlie."

"And she picked herself up and carried herself all the way to the FBI's BAU, where she now stops men like him," Rossi added reaching across the table for her hand. Shooting Charlie a stern look, he reminded her that she was more than just her father's legacy. And while she still felt like it sometimes, she was not the same naïve fifteen year-old girl she was the day he was arrested. That girl was dead, and had been for a very, very long time.

"Where she found her real family," Morgan added his hand to the pile.

"Who absolutely love the crap out of her," Emily agreed placing her hand in the pile.

"Just for being her ooey gooey marshmallowy badass self," Garcia nodded adding her hand as well, giving Charlie's hand a firm squeeze as Charlie chuckled.

Reid wrapped an arm around her tensed shoulders, and pulled her in close, kissing the side of her head. "Even when they're idiots," he added sheepishly, apologizing for his error once more.

Charlie forced a smile as she leaned into Reid's embrace. "Thanks guys," she smiled back at her team. "Nother round?" she asked wiping away something from her eyes. She didn't bother looking over at James and his friends. She already knew what she'd see, and didn't need the proof. Any moment now they'd find some polite reason to excuse themselves from the table and then they'd get the hell out of there. Happened every time someone found out about her dad and who she was before the BAU.

"Sounds good," Reid nodded slowly. "Here, take my. . ." he started patting himself looking for his wallet before turning to Charlie. "Very funny – where is it?"

"You mean this?" she produced the small leather wallet from her own pocket. "Starting to wonder when you'd notice little brother. Snagged this shortly after you sat down again," she teased before digging out the debit card, sliding the rest back to him. "Be back soon," she added getting up from her chair.

A couple seconds later, after watching her make her way to the bar Bucky rose from his seat as well. "You know what, I think I'm gonna help her," he announced before following after Charlie.

"I should go too," Reid, wanting to make things right with Charlie, tried rising before Morgan pushed him back down in his seat.

"Oh no you don't," Morgan warned. "You're staying right here," he informed Reid. The last thing Charlie needed was boy wonder coming up and ruining her one moment alone with James. He hadn't missed the way James kept staring at Charlie every time she wasn't looking, and the way he smiled when she was. He was interested, and if he didn't know any better, he might think she was too.

* * *

"Hey," Bucky whispered softly as he came up behind Charlie, careful not to startle her as she waited for Travis to finish filling their drink order.

"Hey," she greeted quietly, turning around to face him.

"That was . . . interesting," he added awkwardly, tilting his head back to the table, referring to the game. "That's why you hit the course the other day - because of your dad's . . ." He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Because of your dad's impending execution date announcement? How did she do it? How could she manage going into work the day the whole world discovered the day her father was to be executed. Suddenly Garcia's intrusion didn't seem so strange. Charlie shouldn't have been at work that day, but the fact that she was, and that she'd seemed so chipper in spite of everything she was going through, made Bucky respect and admire her even more.

"Yeah," Charlie nodded avoiding eye contact, chewing the skin around her nails until they bled again. She never hid who her father was, she couldn't do what Seaver had done, and go by her mom's maiden name, there was no hiding the fact that she was a Rhys – so she might as well embrace it. Most people heard her name and would ask, like the candy or the killer? Then, once she explained the killer was in fact her father, they looked at Charlie as if she had sprung another head, or that she'd kill them now. "You can go ahead. Ask. I know you want to."

"Ask what?"

"If I knew," she answered point blank. It was always the first question people asked her, that is, if they stuck around long enough after finding out who her father was. Most people just cut and run. Then again – James wasn't most people. He understood. She could see that in his eyes – he understood what she'd been through. "If I knew what he was doing with them in the barn those nights. I must have right? I mean, thirty six women over nine years – how couldn't I have not known."

"You didn't," Bucky answered definitively. "The way you talk about him, that look you have – there's no way you knew what he was doing."

Charlie chuckled morosely, "looks like those books I recommended for you came in handy after all. Might make a profiler out of you yet," she rested her weight against the bar as she leaned back, facing James as they spoke. "You're right. I didn't know. My dad . . . he was . . . he was clever. Always made sure I was either away from the farm, or out of town for an away game when it happened. He was principled that way. He never killed when I was in the house. Suppose I should be grateful for that at least."

"What about your mom? Where was she?"

"Never had one." Charlie turned her cap around so the brim faced forwards, casting a dark shadow across her face, as she explained how her mother died bringing her into the world. Made her dad's arrest all the worst. It had only been the two of them, so for fifteen years he had been her everything, and then one day she suddenly had nothing.

"Here ya are Charlie," Travis called, sliding the drinks her way, and a single cola bottle.

"Thanks Trav," she smiled. "How much do I owe ya for the round?"

"Cola is on the house – thirty for the rest."

She slid him Spence's debit card for him to ring in before returning to her conversation with Bucky.

"Wipe that look off your face superman – I don't need none of your pity," she took a sip from her cola before passing him a couple of the pitchers to carry back to the table.

"Sorry," Bucky tried to say something supportive, but his mind fell short. He'd never been in this situation before – he had no idea what the proper protocol was for this kind of situation.

"Thanks," she offered him a meagre smile.

"For what?"

"For being sorry," she replied honestly. "And not running in the other direction when you heard about my dad."

"So you're the kid of a serial killer, I'm a former brainwashed, Soviet assassin. Who the hell am I to judge?" he replied with an honest shrug. He was no saint, he had lifetimes of blood to wash off his hands – how could he judge Charlie for who her father was?

Charlie didn't say anything, but she laughed, and smile brightly at him like he'd said all the right things. "Come on, we should be getting back," she nudged him gently with her shoulder before leading him back to the table with everyone waiting expectantly for their drinks.

"So different game?" Prentiss wondered, reaching for the first pitcher to top off her beer.

Sam's offer to play a round of poker was met with an overwhelming, and resounding 'no!' from the profilers.

"Trust me on this brother – unless you want to lose your shirt, shoes, house and car, don't play with those three," Morgan motioned to Charlie, Prentiss, and Reid. Only Charlie had the decency to feign innocence, where as Spencer and Emily exchanged devious smirks.

* * *

Again, the group quickly splintered. Reid brought out his travel chess set to play with Rossi, while Emily flirted lightly with Sam. Penelope and Derek were off in their own little world while Charlie conversed with Steve and James.

"You draw?" Charlie pondered, pointing over at the small notebook sticking out of Steve's front pocket.

"A bit," Steve admitted suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

"What do you mean a bit?" Bucky smacked his arm slightly. "Steve's a great artist. Growing up, he was always drawing." Steve turned a heated scarlet at Bucky's praise.

"Really?" Charlie cocked her head, interested. "What do you say Cap? I show you mine if you show me yours?" Reaching into the bag slung over the back of her chair she pulled out a full size studio sketchbook. "Wanna trade?"

"You draw?" Steve asked in surprise.

"A bit," Charlie laughed lightly as she watch the flush spread from Steve's cheeks to his ears.

"Alright," he agreed, sliding the notebook over to the agent for inspection. Just as she promised she slid her over to him as well.

"You want to go first or shall I?" Charlie wondered turning the little book over in her hands.

"Ladies first," Steve nodded in her direction.

As Charlie opened the book Steve held his breath, waiting for her criticisms. "These are great," Charlie breathed as her eyes flitted over the well-worn pages. "You have great concept of space and shading." She continued, flipping through the pages, keeping her thoughts to herself until she finished. "You're good," she smiled warmly in his direction. Though your portraits need a bit more work," she continued listing his technical problems, but was careful to add reassuring, supportive comments as well for every piece of constructive criticism she gave.

"Yeah, well lets see what makes you such an expert," Steve countered playfully, much to Bucky's envy, before opening the book in his hands. The first page took his breath away. Looking at the image, and back to Charlie he gaped speechless. He knew Charlie was a forensic artist, but he had seen some of their work on the news – this went far beyond anything he'd ever seen.

"Wow," Bucky breathed looking over at the charcoal sketch of a young boy, probably about the age of seven or eight. The texture and shading she had done for his mop of curls looks so soft, and so real, he thought he'd be able to feel them if he touched the page.

"These are amazing," Steve breathed looking through a couple more.

"Thanks," she shrugged modestly. "The art program at Vassar is fantastic. All the professors are amazingly talented, and the really encourage their students."

"You went to Vassar?" Steve asked, enviously.

Back in the day he dreamed of being able to afford the tuition at the prestigious art school. But back then, for him at least, being an artist wasn't practical, not when you're colour blind. Besides, it had been the depression, who could afford that kind of school for something like art?

"Yeah," Charlie smiled. "Specialized in sketches. Did some other stuff too while I was there, but drawing was my true love," she explained. "You know, I still keep in touch with some of the professors there. I'm sure you'd probably be able to get in if you submitted some of your sketches to them," she offered.

"Uh oh," Morgan groaned, preventing their conversation about Steve's chances at Vassar from continuing, not taking his eyes off the door.

"What's uh oh?" Reid asked looking up from his chess game.

"Trouble just walked through the door, in the form of Doreah James," replied Morgan, eyes immediately trained on Charlie.

"That's not good," agreed Rossi.

"Un-fucking-believable, this night just keeps getting better doesn't it?" Charlie cursed under her breath. What? Were they following her now?

"Doreah James? Isn't she a reporter for the Post?" wondered Steve, curious about the profilers' sudden change in behaviour the moment they saw the journalist walk in. True, journalists and law enforcement had a turbulent history together, but this took a whole new level of disdain. The entire mood at the table changed from happy care-free to cold, and on edge; he could almost see the hair on the back of their necks stand straight up. The only one who seemed to remain calm, was Charlie; who remained relaxed sipping, away at her cola.

Before anyone had a chance to reply, a syrupy, obviously fake voice interrupted their gathering, " well if it isn't the infamous Charlie Rhys, I've been trying to get a hold of you for quite some time you know."

An annoyed smile twitched at the corner of Charlie's mouth before turning her head in Doreah's direction. " Been kind of busy. You know, murders to solve, serial killers to catch, it tends to eat away at your free time." The warmth and kindness in her voice was gone, as were all traces of her Southern accent. "And as far as you're concerned Miss James, my first name is SSA."

"Yes, one of my sources informed you, and you're team, were back from Indiana. Did you enjoy being out of the city?"

"We were assisting the local PD in apprehending a killer who was abducting and mutilating young women before slashing their throats, and dumping their bodies in back alleys – not camping in the woods roasting marshmallows and singing kumbaya," replied Charlie tersely. "What can I do for you Ms James?" she then challenged, with a pointed glare.

Bucky noted the cold edge in her voice, but above all else she remained obligingly polite. Was that a Southern thing or just a Charlie thing?

"I'm working on a human interest piece regarding women in male dominated field, such as the FBI, and I was-"

"No," replied Charlie quickly, cutting the woman off midsentence.

"No?" wondered Doreah, perplexed by the sharp remark.

"No," Charlie repeated. Pausing for a moment to finish the contents of her bottle she smiled to herself before looking back up at the journalist. "You're not writing a human interest piece about women in a male dominate field because if you were you'd be talking to Penelope Garcia," she motioned across the table at her friend. " Garcia happens to be the FBI's top tech analyst, and one of the top three computer hackers in the world – all self taught. There is also SSA Emily Prentiss," she motioned to Emily with a jerk of her head. "The daughter of American Ambassador Prentiss, former member of INTERPOL, amongst other agencies, she is fluent in seven different languages and mastered several forms of martial arts." Rotating in her seat Charlie pointed out several other highly trained, qualified women – not all of whom were in the FBI, but were equally impressive.

" And finally – you don't write human interest. You're here because of the headlines," shaking her head Charlie tutted. "I don't like being lied to Ms. James," she added darkly. "Now I don't know how you tracked me down here, but just like everyone else, you're trying to get little Charlie Rhys' reaction to finding out that her home town is finally getting around to executing her daddy. And I'm going to tell you the same thing I say every time his name come up in the news. No comment. No comment. No God damn comment."

"Come on, Charlie," Doreah pleaded inserting herself in the space between Charlie and Bucky. "You know what people say about you? Your cold, unresponsive nature regarding your father's case has led to people calling you the Ice Queen, and a frigid bitch."

At once three of the men at the table slammed their fists down, and stood aggressively eying the journalist, causing her to jump back slightly. Steve never tolerated anyone talking a woman in such a manner, Morgan refused to let the reporter talk to his friend and colleague in such a way, and Bucky - well everyone knew why he was pissed, except, perhaps, for Doreah.

"Sit down," Charlie ordered the three of them. "I appreciate the concern, but I can fight my own battles." Her eyes never left Bucky's as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat; fist clenched.

"I didn't mean any offense," Doreah threw her hands up, looking uneasy from Morgan to Bucky, especially when she noticed the metal hand, and the crack in the table from where he'd slammed his fist down. "I'm just saying – why not break your silence? Tell people your side of it all? You have one hell of a story Charlie – why not let somebody tell it for you?"

"Here's the thing none of y'all seem to get," Charlie argued between chuckles of disbelief. "It's not a God damn story. It's my life. And I'll be damned if I let anyone make a name for themselves, and a quick buck by reporting about the shit I went through cause of my father."

The look on Charlie's face jolted something in Bucky's memory, now he saw it. The look was gone in a flash, but he saw it. That look in her eyes, he saw it in the fifteen year-old girl in the photograph from the Post – the copy Steve bought later the day of his eval. Her hair was longer now, and she had more freckles thanks to working so much in the sun, and the wide eye innocent farmer's daughter look was gone too – but it was her. It was all in the eyes. The photograph was in black and white, but the eyes still burned with the same cold impassivity he saw now. And just like that, it was gone again, but only the Charlie they'd seen earlier didn't return. She was gone. In her stead was someone quieter, more subdued.

"Charlie dear," Doreah tried to reason with the young agent. "I've already got a name. This is all about the story – your story."

"Fine," Charlie shrugged. "I'll talk – off the record."

"Off the record?" Doreah choked. "But . . . but . . . I can't use any of that for the paper."

"I know," Charlie smiled, but it wasn't warm and sweet, it was more dangerous – venomous – and sent chills up Bucky's spine. "More than just a pretty face darlin'. Besides," she cocked her head innocently. "I thought it was about the story? Not selling papers."

Doreah opened and closed her mouth several times before Penelope reached in her bag and handed the journalist a bottle of aloe vera gel. "For the burn," Morgan clarified smugly as Doreah stared at the tube of green jelly. Looking back at her friend Charlie gave both Garcia and Morgan a fist bump before returning her attentions to Doreah.

"Well," Doreah huffed, straightening her blazer lapel. "I can see the ice queen reigns supreme. Perhaps one of your colleagues has something to say?" She looked around the table, note pad in hand, hopefully.

"No comment," Reid said sternly, glowering at the journalist with as much hatred he could muster. No one upset his friend, not if he could help it. Slowly, one by one, all the agents at the table declined to comment about the announcement of Lewis Rhys' pending execution, in obvious support for their friend.

"Looks like you ain't got a story after all," Charlie shrugged. "Door's that way," she pointed in the same direction Doreah had entered in. "Don't let it hit you on your way out."

Growing disgruntled, and exasperated by the stubbornness of the agents, Doreah turned to Steve and Bucky, noticing them for the first time. It took a second, but there was a sudden flicker of recognition behind her eyes as she eyed Bucky curiously, and his proximity to Charlie.

"My, my, Agent Rhys. You certainly do keep interesting company," she sang, not taking her eyes off Bucky. "Captain America, and the Winter Soldier."

"Former," Charlie corrected as her eyes narrowed, and lost the fight to keep the gravel tone from her voice.

"Ooh, getting defensive are we?" Doreah purred. "I wonder if part of your desire for secrecy doesn't have something to do with your new friends? Perhaps they don't know the true story of little Charlie Rhys, and her daddy?" she added, trying to goad Charlie into revealing something.

Charlie countered, softening a bit, "if there's one thing I can't stand, Mis. James, it's poor manners. Can't help it – I'm Southern."

Doreah shrugged with a flounce before turning her attention to Steve. "So what does Captain America think about the FBI admitting the children of serial killers into its ranks? Not exactly patriotic – is it Cap?"

"No comment," Steve replied curtly.

"No comment," Sam repeated in the same tone when Doreah looked to him. She wheeled around to look at Bucky, now standing by Charlie's side, almost acting as a shield between her and the journalist. She gave him a little huff as she eyed him, and tittered, " I wouldn't even bother asking you. Not exactly the pinnacle of morality, are we Sergeant Barnes? You only had what? 24 confirmed kills - when you were the Winter Soldier? Must be a blow to the ego knowing a civilian has more kills than you – weren't you supposedly the best?"

Steve's eyes flashed with anger at the journalist's audacity. He didn't take too kindly to anybody insulting anyone, let alone his best friend. Especially when they brought up the Winter Soldier around him. Didn't they know how badly Buck had suffered because of that? Of course they didn't. They didn't know about the years of torture, and brain washing he suffered from, the nightmares, and the flashbacks they induced. The nights Bucky stayed up, eyes red and swollen from the tears he shed thinking about all the lives he destroyed. They just saw the face behind the gun.

He didn't know if Charlie could sense his mounting rage as well, or if she was merely tired of the woman's presence, but she came out from behind Bucky and stepped between them, wrapping her fingers around the clenched fist of his metal hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. She gave Bucky some kind of look that Steve couldn't interpret, but whatever it said, Bucky calmed suddenly, and relaxed beneath Charlie's touch. He backed down, slowly lowering himself back into his seat, though his eyes remained trained of Doreah, ready to strike at a second's notice.

Turning her attention back on Doreah, Charlie spoke quickly and to the point. "Listen, it's clear you're not getting your story here tonight, so I kindly suggest you leave, before I call Travis, and have him personally escort you out – he doesn't take too kindly to reporters coming around here, harassing his patrons." She warned Doreah in a polite, but sharp voice. "And if you leave within the next thirty seconds I won't have you arrested for stalking a federal agent. Your choice."

"Stalking?" Doreah looked appalled. "When did stepping into a bar for one little drink become stalking?"

"Don't play cute with me," Charlie stepped closer, her face inches away from the reporter's. "You and those immoral vultures you call colleagues, have been camped out on my property line since this story hit the headlines. I haven't even been home yet – no one knows we're back from Indiana, and yet you happened to know what bar we're drinking at? I know when I'm being followed – so you can get out of here, and tell your source I will find the leak and by the time I'm done with them they'll be lucky if they get anything less than five years in a maximum security prison for trading federal secrets. Am I clear?"

Doreah gulped slightly as she took a step back. She wasn't sure what frightened her more – the threat itself, or the calm level voice mixed with the daggers coming from Agent Rhys' voice as she delivered the threat. Muttering 'just like your father,' under her breath, Doreah turned, and with a chorus of her stiletto's clicking against the floor, retreated out the front door.

Waiting until Doreah was out of sight for good Charlie sat down in her chair, exhausted.

"That's what passes for good journalism these days?" Steve huffed, glaring at the door in case she walked through it once more. "I don't remember journalists acting like that back in our day."

"That's because back in your day journalists actually had integrity, and morals," Charlie muttered bitterly.

"You okay sweetie?" Prentiss asked, rubbing Charlie's arm affectionately.

Charlie sat, focused on the table. Her face was expressionless but her eyes were dark, clouded. "I'm fine Emily," she sighed after a second, clearly not fine, but she faked it anyways. "I've been dealing with people like Doreah since I was fifteen – nothing I'm not used to already."

Reaching over, Reid placed a hand gently on her shoulder, giving a tender squeeze. Kissing the back of his hand, Charlie leaned against Reid, appreciating the comfort of his support. Her team. It's what got her through the day.

Steve shot Bucky a concerned look, as tension remained high amongst those seated at the table. Bucky looked back at him, giving him a slight nod letting him know that he was okay. What Doreah said to him bothered him, how could it not? All anyone ever saw him as was a gun, and he was sick of it. But he was over it, Charlie had that effect on him, and he knew Steve saw it too. But he didn't focus on that. He was too preoccupied being concerned for Charlie to even worry about what Doreah had said to him, he didn't even take the time to relish in the fact that Charlie had held his metal hand without flinching - a real first.

He thought of the girl in the photograph. The sweet, innocent looking farmer's daughter with the distant, impassive eyes as her father was being arrested for murder, not allowing herself to feel because of the near by reporters - vultures ready to feed off her vulnerability and emotional hell. Fifteen. She had been dealing with stunts like that since she was fifteen. That was too young. He thought back to when he was fifteen, in school; teasing girls; staying up late to finish his homework because it was due the next morning and he'd neglected it to listen to the ball game on the radio; sneaking out to go to the movies with Steve – it may have been a different time, but all that typical teen stuff was timeless. The media hounded him for a bit after Steve and Sam found him, and it was hard enough to handle as an adult. He couldn't imagine having to deal with any of that regularly, at any age, let alone fifteen.

"I'm gonna go settle my bill with Trav then head back to crash on Reid's couch," Charlie announced, breaking free from Reid's embrace.

"You do know you can have the bed right? I don't mind sleeping on the couch?" Reid asked, adjusting in his seat.

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed little brother," Charlie smiled affectionately, mussing his hair a bit. "Thanks for the offer though."

"You have your key?" checked Reid like a concerned parent on field trip day.

"I know where the spare is," she nodded getting up from her seat.

This was evidently something they did often – Charlie crashing at Reid's. Probably did that to avoid the press camped out at her place, trying to get a statement from her about her dad.

"You want me to come with you?" Reid asked slowly starting to get up from his seat.

"Nah," Charlie declined the offer. "You stay. Have fun. I have a stack of files chalk full of unidentified remains in need of faces," she added forcing a smile.

"Sugar, leave the drawings for tonight. They can wait," Morgan attempted to talk her into staying with the team.

"Derek," Charlie smiled sadly at him. "These people have had everything taken from them, including their identity. They've waited long enough."

Without another word she said her good byes to everyone, assuring Derek, Rossi and Prentiss she'd see them at the office early Monday morning.

"And I'll see you tomorrow for brunch and the farmers market?" she asked, clarifying with Garcia for their Sunday morning plans.

"I'll be there," Penelope beamed excitedly. "We're still on for Zumba on Tuesday too, right?"

"Yep, you, me and Reid," Charlie shot Reid an pseudo-excited grin as he groaned, and slid further under the table.

"Zumba? What's that?" Steve interrupted for a second.

"It's a fitness class," Garcia explained quickly. "It combines Latin dance steps, and cardio fitness. Charlie promised to take me and Reid when they got back from Indiana."

"You mean pretty boy's gonna be dressed in spandex doing the shimmy and shake?" Morgan howled with laughter. "I am definitely going to need pictures of that."

"You're more than welcome to join us," Charlie extended the invitation to the table in general. "It's actually a lot of fun, and a great workout."

"I'm in," Sam answered quickly, surprising everyone. "I've heard good things about Zumba," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Besides, there is no way I can be worse at it than these two," he jerked a thumb in Steve and Bucky's direction.

"Great," Charlie nodded enthusiastically. Reaching into her messenger bag she pulled out a scrap piece of paper and pen. "Here's the time and address," she slid the paper towards Sam. "Wear something comfy you can move in, and a pair of shoes with good grips on them – and bring lots of water."

"I'll be there," Sam nodded before saying good bye. Bidding good bye to the rest of the table, for a second time, Charlie got up to settle her part of the bill with Travis.

Rossi immediately got up and followed her to the bar. "How have the nightmares been?" He asked, leaning against the bar next to her. "I know they tend to flare up whenever he's in the news."

"They come and go," she admitted distantly looking out at the bar seeing all the smiling faces, enjoying the sounds of idle chatter and laughter. She tried to pass herself off as cool and detached, but she knew Rossi wouldn't miss the tense way she clung to the bar. The fact was, they were worse than ever, and she was lucky to get more than four hours of sleep a night.

"You know Charlie, no one expects you to just be okay, not after what you've been through."

"That's where they're mistaken," she replied severely. She would not be underestimated because of her father's mistakes. She was stronger than that, they weren't her mistakes. Despite what some might say, she was not his thirty-seventh victim. She was a fighter - not a victim.

"Well at least one good thing came from tonight," Dave shrugged with a knowing smile.

"What's that?"

"He really does like you - this James. Hasn't taken his eyes off you all night, and I thought he was going to kill Doreah for the way she talked to you tonight - make sure you give him a chance." Charlie's cheeks burned as she looked back at Dave. "Speaking of which," Dave added looking back towards the table, "incoming."

Turning around Charlie found James, with his jacket on, and hands in his pockets. "I was hoping to walk you to your car – if that's alright."

"I took the train," Charlie explained, his offer taking her by surprise.

"Alright, I'll walk you to the subway then," he countered with one of his signature boyish grins.

"Listen James, that's really sweet of you to offer, but I'll be fine on my own. You really don't have to . . ."

"Listen, it's late, you've had a few drinks, and you're clearly upset. There is no way I'm letting you walk around the city by yourself at this time of night," he cut her off. Jamming his hands into his coat pocket, "I'd do it for any woman. I swear," he added, making the boy scout salute with his right hand.

Chuckling, Charlie nodded. "Alright you win. Lets go." She motioned for him to follow her to the door. Turning back quickly she grabbed Dave by the elbow, cutting him off from rejoining the table.

"I'll see you tomorrow night at your place for dinner?"

"See you then, kitten," Dave agreed leaning forward giving her forehead a gentle kiss. He rejoined the team at the table; watching both James and Charlie picked up from where they left off on one of their conversations from earlier, as they head out the front door and into the night.


	4. The Mask

Leaving the dimly lit bar, Charlie took a deep inhalation of fresh air as she turned up the collar of her coat. Some point between their arrival and now the air turned cool and crisp. The Indian summer was gone, and chilly autumn winds came in its stead. It was moments like these that made her question her decision to move up North – guarantee there would be no autumn chill down in New Orleans this time of year.

Looking over next to him, Bucky noticed Charlie trying to hide her little shivers and the sudden quickening of her pace as they walked to the subways station. "Here," he shrugged out of his coat, passing it towards her, "take it."

"No that's alright," she tried arguing, failing to assure him she was fine.

"Just take it," he insisted, holding it open for her. "I don't really need it – I burn kind of hot anyways," he added after a second. Thanks to their experiments on him, Hydra inadvertently adjusted Bucky's core body temperature by a few degrees, so not only did he heal faster, but also it was next to impossible for him to feel the cold, or get sick. He'd have to be in Siberia in the buff during a snowstorm to really feel the chill. "I'm not trying to make a pass at you – I promise," he added for good measure.

"You really are superman, aren't you?" she teased softly before deciding to take the coat. "Thanks," she added with a smile to show she hadn't forgotten her manners, inadvertently melting his heart.

"Not a problem," he grinned back enthusiastically at her, not failing to notice it was the third time she called him 'superman' that night. "Must have been a lot warmer down South, huh?"

"Yeah," she nodded, pushing up the baggy sleeves of his coat over her arms so at least her hands stuck out. "Swore I was going to freeze to death my first winter up here," she added with a nervous laugh.

"How long have you been in the city?"

"I came to DC when I was . . . oh God, how old was I now," she paused to think. It was all a lifetime ago now; she had difficulty remembering. "I think I was seventeen."

"What brought you here?"

"Wanted a change of scenery," she forced a smile in his direction.

Sensing her apprehension, Bucky dropped the subject immediately, telling her she didn't have to say anything if she didn't want to. He was desperate to see the girl in the bar again, the one laughing and smiling, offering him cheeky remarks, who set his pulse racing for the first time in years.

That girl left the moment Doreah showed up, but Bucky hoped, perhaps naively, that he could get her to come back – even for just a minute. "You and your team . . . you seem close," he awkwardly commented instead, balling his fists into his jeans, careful not to get the denim caught between the plates of his left arm.

"Yeah, we are," she agreed, the warmth returning to her smile. "They're family. Might not seem like much, but they're mine" she added. _And they're all I have._

"So what made you decide to join the FBI? Did you always want to join or did that come up after. . ." he stopped suddenly, realizing he was bringing up her dad again.

"James, it's okay," she assured him she took no offense to him mentioning her father, wasn't like he was some kind of dirty little secret – she just didn't like reporters asking her questions about him, or having him come up in their drinking game.

"It's not exactly as if I could take over my daddy's auto shop after his arrest," she added playfully. The people of Scottsborough practically revolted after her father's sick little hobby was discovered; they all but burned down the family farm following his conviction. Last she heard, the old auto shop was still there, left abandoned – everyone was too afraid of the bad energy that hung around the place to do something with it. So it sat there, the exact same way her dad left it the day he was arrested, as did the house she grew up in – but she didn't want to think about that.

"When the first few bodies washed up against the river banks, and sheriff Cooper realized the case was serial, he called the BAU. The agents they sent down treated me real good like after they arrested my dad. Kept in touch, didn't treat me like I was filth just because of what he did, and I just figured you know what, if that's what the FBI was about – then maybe it was a place I wanted to be."

"You still keep in touch with the agents?" Bucky wondered. It had to be a strange feeling, being friendly with the men who arrested your father. Did she secretly resent them for arresting her father? Did she hate her father? He couldn't tell. She spoke about it all with such a blasé, these are the facts attitude, and it was near impossible to determine how she felt about it all. Though, he had the distinct feeling that was exactly how she wanted it.

"Yeah," Charlie nodded with a secretive smile dancing impishly behind her pale eyes. "Every year I always get Christmas and birthday cards from one. The other insists on calling me kitten, and we have dinner together every Sunday night."

It took Bucky a second, but eventually he recalled Charlie's parting conversation with her colleague Dave – _'I'll see you tomorrow night at your place for dinner?' 'See you then, kitten.'_

"You mean Dave?" Bucky asked, wide eyed in disbelief.

"Yep," she nodded slightly. "Rossi and I go way, way back. He's actually the one who got me into the BAU."

"You weren't always BAU?" He had no idea the way the Bureau worked. Charlie seemed so comfortable, and at home with her team, he kind of just assumed they had always worked together; he was intrigued to learn that was not always the case.

"No – I've only been with them for the last six or seven years."

"What did you do before the BAU?"

"Worked mostly in undercover. I had contacts out of the bureau they wanted to capitalize on, and I'm good at thinking on my feet," she admitted with a shrug.

"What happened?" He got the distinct feeling she didn't just wake up one morning and decide that she wanted to be a profiler, and transferred willingly. Taking the stairs almost two at a time down into the underground, he dug his old brown leather wallet from his back pocket to scrounge for the right change. He usually preferred to drive everywhere; he wasn't use to taking public transit anymore. Too many people. They all seemed to stop and stare at his metal arm as though they'd never seen an amputee before. The staring always made his blood boil, to the point he just decided to get a car and deal with the parking.

"I can't say too much about it," Charlie confessed. "There was a leak," she added slowly, with a swipe of her metro pass through the reader she walked through the turn style, in disbelief she was saying anything about it at all. "Identities were compromised, things got dangerous, and they had to pull me out. Shortly after that the director got a letter, recommending me to the BAU, from Dave. They're always looking to expand the team's dynamics, why not include an artist. Dave mentioned that I could offer a different perspective than the others – I read symbols and images the way Reid reads . . . well, everything, and I can translate those details into a visual."

Her gift – that's what Gideon called it. The same way he could profile that the footpath killer had a stutter; Charlie could know the exact placing of a victim's scar just by looking at a skull. She had an eerie way of talking to the dead, and reading the living – a talent she shared with her mentor, the famous forensic artist Frank Bender, before his death in 2011. She had been his one and only protégé, the only one he deemed worthwhile teaching because she 'possessed the gift.'

Getting onto the train, they fell into easy conversation as Bucky rested his arms against the overhead bar, and Charlie took a seat in front of him. It was a rare moment that either one of them felt truly comfortable with someone outside of their usual circle of friends. Didn't help that they were the only ones on the train at such a late hour, but it honestly didn't matter, they were already off in a world all their own, they wouldn't have noticed either way.

"I figured it out by the way," Bucky teased, escorting her off the train. "The answer to your riddle," he clarified after a second.

"Oh?" Charlie turned around, giving him an amused smile that begged him to go on. Mentally she was trying to recount the last time the ride from the bar to Spence's stop went by so quickly. She couldn't.

"It wasn't a yes or a no, just a not right now," he explained feeling quite proud of himself. Yes he could call on her, but not until after their business concluded, and it was no longer a conflict of interest.

"Looks like you caught me," she chuckled.

"So do you know when the right time would be for me to ask you out again?"

"I'll give you a sign," she promised with a laugh at the puppy dog look on his face.

"Alright," he agreed, sliding his hands back into his pockets. "Just do me a favour and make it obvious – subtly is lost on me in this century."

Laughing again Charlie promised, "when the time comes, you'll know it."

"Thank goodness," Bucky pretending to wipe the sweat off his brow, "cause I'd hate to miss out on a chance to go out with a girl like you cause I'm no good at picking up on clues."

"A girl like me?" she asked, raising a brow skeptically. Not exactly her favourite choice of words.

"Funny, smart, interesting," Bucky shrugged. There were a million other words he could use to describe her, sweet, talented, honest, captivating, amazing, but he figured it was just safer to keep it short than scare her off with the intensity of his developing crush.

"There are plenty of smart, funny, interesting women in the city," she countered, turning left down a busy street. None of that made Charlie special – there were hundreds if not thousands, or even millions of women fitting that description. Quite frankly she didn't see herself as being all that funny, or all that smart – certainly not when compared to Spence – and while she was interesting, it was for all the wrong reasons.

"Yeah," he agreed hesitantly. There were plenty of women who had all the qualities he just described, and he was sure they were all wonderful people, but the one crucial factor they were missing was: they weren't Charlie. "But I like you," he explained point blank.

"Why?" she scoffed. She'd seen the write up on him at the Smithsonian; well actually she heard it as Spence prattled it off verbatim, from memory. Smart, charming, chivalrous, handsome, and brave, Bucky ' superman' Barnes could have his pick of women, something that was as true back then as it was now. What made her so special?

"I dunno," he shrugged with a cheeky, lop sided grin. "Just a feeling I have," he added shooting her a sideways glance. "And I think you feel it too," he added after a second. He looked over to gauge her reaction to his last statement.

Charlie said nothing, but looked back at him with a strange smile on her face, lost somewhere between a smirk, and general unwillingness to admit he was right. Whatever there was between them, she felt it too. Though she didn't say as much, Bucky knew it scared her. The thought that there might be someone out there willing to deal with all the crazy that was her life, someone willing to take a chance on her, to see her for who she truly was – it had her terrified. To be honest, it scared him too, but it also excited him more than anything else had in a long time.

"This is me," she motioned up to the brownstone behind her as she faced him. "Well Reid's technically," she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder awkwardly looking behind her before glancing back at him. Quietly, she wondered if she should mention that he followed her home when he was only supposed to take her as far as the train station. Whether he planned it or not, she had enjoyed his company, and felt more than a little sad that their night was coming to an end so soon.

Reluctantly she shrugged out of his jacket, grateful for its added warmth – or perhaps that was just him? She swore, the way he was looking at her right now set her blood on fire as her heart beat a little faster. "I'd invite you up for a beer, as a thank you for walking me home, but all we have is root," she bit her lip giving him an apologetic look.

"Lucky for me, that just so happens to be my favourite kind," Bucky grinned broadly at her as she dug out the keys from her bag. Grabbing the door for her once she got it unlocked, he followed her up the stairs, all five flights, until they reached the apartment.

"It's not much, but it's a safe place to lay low for a while when needed," she explained quietly throwing the door open. This was her sanctuary, her place to escape the media mania that plagued her stoop every time her father's name made its way into the news.

He was big news, which sadly meant she was as well. Charlie was the definitive source of what Lewis Rhys was really like, an inside look into the mind of a psychopath. Whoever got the exclusive scoop from her would have their journalistic career made. Naturally that meant she made it as difficult as possible for anyone to get close to her. Mercifully no one in the media knew about her close relationship with her team, or Reid, so his place was a verifiable safe haven for her to escape to when things got too crazy. If she couldn't stay with Reid she knew Rossi or Prentiss were always willing to take her in as well. The BAU looked out for their own – she learned that lesson within the first few weeks of joining the team.

Tossing her keys onto the small table next to the door she invited James in, telling him not to bother removing his shoes – the place was a mess anyways. The only time Reid actually cleaned was when she stayed with him. Discarding her bag onto the couch she headed straight for the fridge, grabbing them two bottles of Jones Root beer.

"Here," she handed one of the bottles to James.

He took the bottle, and thanked her for the drink before following Charlie out the window. Spence lived on the top floor of his building, and had a decent view of the city from the fire escape.

"I like to come out here late at night sometimes," she confessed, leaning against the railing. There was something about seeing the city this way, it made her feel at peace, knowing there were so many people going about their daily routines with little to no knowledge of who she was or what he father had done. People who hadn't seen what she saw on a daily basis, who had never seen a murdered body. She'd like to keep it that way for as many of them as possible, and preserve their innocence.

"I can see why," Bucky agreed taking a sip from his bottle. "It's a gorgeous view," he added, not looking at the city, but at Charlie standing next to him, leaning against the railing, selfishly admiring the pensive look etched on her face.

"Can I be honest with you?" she asked quietly not taking her eyes off the skyline.

"Have you been anything less than, so far?" he wondered with a twitch of his upper lip.

"You don't always have to wear your mask," she whispered softly before taking a sip from her own bottle, wiping away the remnants from her lip with the sleeve of her shirt. "You're safe around me."

"What?" He staggered back slightly, startled by her perception. "I'm not wearing a mask . . . I use to . . . not anymore." He laughed awkwardly trying to play it off as just a misunderstanding.

"I'm not talking about the muzzle. The one Hydra made you wear – that was you're second mask," she sighed, turning to face him. "I'm talking about your first one. The brave face. You wear it like a mask. You don't have to. Not around me."

Bucky's grip on the glass bottle tightened until it shattered in his hand, raining glass down onto the street below. Watching foaming liquid trickle down his metal arm he kept his eyes cast downward, "how'd you figure it out?" he whispered, mentally returning to the dark place deep in his core. Not that he ever really left the darkness; he just got better at covering it up.

"Cause," she answered, drying his hand with a tissue that seemingly appeared form nowhere. "I've got one too." Finally his eyes drifted up and met hers. "Morgan calls it my poker face," she explained softly craning her neck to one side, she focused on the metal plating of his arm, fascinated by the mechanisms, and the way they seemed to fit together. It was some of the most intricate, and advanced engineering she'd ever seen, and it fascinated her.

"Doing what I do, with my father being who he is – everyone knows. You just have to say my last name, and everyone at the Bureau knows exactly who my father is, and what he did. I've spent my whole life in his shadow; no matter how hard I try, I never quite seem able to get out from under the darkness.

Every time he makes the news, it's like a wound that never closes, my world goes to hell, and the wound reopens. Suddenly, it's happening all over again, finding out who he was, what he was doing all the times I was away. All the pain, the hurt, the anger, and the frustration bubbles up again, and the wound begins to bleed.

I tell myself it was a long time ago, I've grown since then, I'm fine. If you keep saying it, then eventually it's gotta be true, right? There are times you've almost got yourself convinced you're okay, but no matter how hard you try; you can never truly lie to yourself, can you?"

Glancing over her shoulder she looked to James, feeling unsteady, and unsure of herself. The cold started seeping back into her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Her chest heaved, as though she'd ran the marathon, as she tried to relax her heart, fighting the emotions swirling and tumbling deep inside the ones she kept buried, but always floated up like a helium balloon.

There she was. The scared, vulnerable fifteen year old still trying to cope with the trauma of discovering who her father really was. Abandoning her bottle, still half full, on the metal grate next to her feet she held her arm tightly, as though she were holding herself together, for fear of falling apart. The girl from the bar was gone, the one with a quick remark and a cheeky smile, who didn't let anything bother her. She'd be back, probably not tonight, but come morning she'd be back. Right now she needed to be hurt, to be vulnerable, just not alone.

Bucky took a deep breath, unsure how much longer he had with the girl behind the mask, but if Charlie could be brave enough to lower her mask around him, then maybe he could to the same with her. It was time to let someone in, and he knew, all the way down in his marrow, that she was someone worth taking a risk on. Exhaling slowly, he turned and slid down with his back against the metal railing.

"Steve tries," he admitted softly. "He tries so hard to be there, and to be supportive, and I appreciate it. Really I do. He just doesn't get it. He doesn't have that darkness, lifetimes of blood on his hands. He doesn't know that feeling of knowing that no matter what he does, or what anyone says, there is never going to be a way for him to undo what he did, to wash that blood off. I know it wasn't my fault, I know what they did to me – but none of it helps. All those people. They're still dead, and I still killed them. I'll never be able to forgive myself for that. Never. It kills Steve to know I can't forgive myself – so I started lying. Stupid, isn't it? Even after all these years, I'm still trying to protect him."

Bucky found that once he got started, it was difficult to stop talking. "That's why I want back into the field. I just want to be able to move on with my life, and leave that guy in the past. Maybe do some good in this world to make up for all the bad I did."

"God, does that sounds familiar," Charlie gave him a knowing smile as she slid down next to him, nudging his foot with hers. "I was so excited to be hunting serial killers when I joined the BAU. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I could stop the same number of monsters as lives my dad ruined, then maybe I'd get a clean slate."

"What do you need a clean slate for?" Bucky wanted to know. "It's not like you killed all those women – you didn't do anything wrong."

"Doesn't matter," she remarked harshly. "My father was a serial killer. In the eyes of the public I'm guilty by association," she argued bitterly. All the horrid names she'd been called over the years flashed through her mind, causing her teeth to grind against each other. Her fists shook as she clenched them tighter and tighter, grateful she didn't have any nails to puncture the skin on her palms.

Instinctively, Bucky reached over for her hand, and calm the shaking. Grabbing her wrist first, he wriggled his fingers into the epicentre of her vice like grip. Gently he worked the hand, until she had unclenched and her palm rested on top of his, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles on the back of her hand.

Charlie stared at the hand in hers, before looking over at James, and the intent way he was looking at her. Licking her lips, and swallowing the hard lump forming in her throat, she looked back to her feet, leaning into his body, only slightly.

"At first I thought thirty-six – that's manageable, the BAU handles dozens of cases a year. But then you factor in all the lives of those who would never be the same because of him, the friends and family of the thirty-six, and you're left with an impossible number." She paused and thought of herself, and how her father took her life from her too. Just another name to add to the list. "Eventually I stopped doing the job for him. Realized all the good I was doing meant nothing to him, or anyone else for that matter. People were going to think and say what they wanted about me no matter what I did.

You can't do the job for them, James. People are going to see what they want to see no matter what you do to try and change that. There are always going to be some people who will see you as a monster, and there isn't a God damn thing you can do about it – you have to be ready for that. To some, you will always be the Winter Soldier, fist of Hydra, just like I'm always going to be the seed of Satan, the devil's offspring."

Bucky bristled at her words, not at what she called him, but what she said about herself. _Feel free to curse if you'd like to Sgt. Barnes, I assure you, you won't hurt my feelings_.

"Don't you ever get tired of it all?" he wondered tucking some of her hair back behind her ear that had been obscuring her face from him. He noted that her ears were pierced, not once, but three times. "The pretending, and the weight of that burden," he added after a brief pause.

"It's exhausting," she admitted, resting her head against his shoulder, forehead pressed against the crook of his neck. "Not the sign," she clarified when she felt his shoulder tense beneath her skin, and his breath hitch.

"Isn't this against the rules," he mused playfully.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Adjusting so he could drape his arm around her, Bucky murmured, "deal," as he pulled her in close to his body. He noticed the tropical scent of her hair as it tickled his nose. If he had to guess he'd say it was coconut, but there was something else mixed in too. Gentle. Sweet. Taking a deep breath he let the scent fill his lungs before exhaling. Whatever it was, he liked it; it was a soothing mixture that had a calming effect.

* * *

Sitting there, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, her head resting against him, Charlie knew she shouldn't be doing this. His file wasn't closed yet. Thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph she finished, and filed, the evaluation paperwork on the plane to Indiana. Now all she had to do was pray they agreed with her findings, and didn't request a follow up. If they did she'd have to defer the file to another agent, and no one would ever let her live it down that she got personal with a subject. They'd stop giving her evaluations, or at the very least she wouldn't be able to conduct them unsupervised again, and she'd probably have to undergo an investigation.

The very thought made her chest constrict and palms sweat. She couldn't have something like that on her record. She couldn't afford a single blemish on her reputation in the bureau. Charlie spent her entire career working tirelessly to be the perfect agent, pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion to ace her tests, following orders or the rules to the letter. She had to, unlike the others she had something to prove – that she wasn't her father. She wasn't going to break.

 _Overcompensating for her father's crimes and possess an overwhelming desire to prove herself,_ that's what Gideon had written in her file when she underwent her own psych eval after being transferred to the BAU. He was right. She was still trying to compensate for what he father had done, and she'd do it by being the perfect agent. She never questioned it before.

But sitting there, with James tracing small circles on her arm with the back of his thumb, had her questioning the value of a perfect record. This was wrong. She knew that. But it felt so good, so right, that for the first time since she joined the academy she didn't give a damn. She'd let the agent take a rest for the night, and just focus on being Charlie, the girl who was currently enjoying the feeling of having James' arm around her.

"You know what the worst part is?" she asked quietly, interrupting the city's nightly melody of traffic mixed with idle chatter of pedestrians. "Aside from the fact that he killed people."

"What?" James' voice, either sleepy or extremely content, rumbled deep in his chest, tightening his hold on her ever so slightly.

"I don't know what's real anymore."

Bucky sat in pensive silence. The words struck a resounding chord deep inside of him. This conversation was starting to sound so familiar.

"Scottsborough isn't like New York," she explained softly, brushing some of the hair from her face. "People don't dream of making it there; they dream of making it out. Growing up, we never had a lot of money; there were a lot of lean years – a lot," Charlie sighed as she started to reminisce.

"I remember one Christmas, I think I was about five, dad didn't have enough money for a tree or presents. So, he told me that year Santa was away on holidays, and his cousin George Clause was in charge of present delivery. And George didn't have the same kind of magic Santa did, so that year not everyone was going to get presents on the same day – cause he couldn't do it all in one night the way Santa did. The day after Christmas I remember he got up real early to go to the stores now that everything was on sale, and drove around until he found an old tree someone threw to the curb, and brought it back to the house."

She smiled fondly at the memory. He still couldn't afford much; all she got was a baseball, and a second hand catcher's mitt. That didn't matter though. She loved them; in her mind they were the greatest gifts in the world.

"I'd spend hours upon hours playing with that ball and mitt," she confessed wiping the corners of her eyes. "No matter how bad things got, he always found a way to pay for things, team fees, uniform rentals, gymnastics, sketchbooks – he always made it work.

When I got a bit older, and I started to actually notice the money problems, I asked him why he kept spending all his money on me, there had to be stuff he wanted too. He told me it was cause he knew I was going places, whether it was being the first female baseball player in the major leagues, or being a famous artist, but I was never gonna get anywhere just sitting at home twiddling my thumbs. He knew I dreamed of getting out, and he just wanted to give it to me in the worst way.

At the time I really thought he believed in me. He was at every one of my games, and was always hanging my pictures around the house, and the shop – said it gave the place a sense of class. But now, now I don't know. Did he really believe I was going somewhere, or was he just trying to keep me out of the house so I wouldn't notice what was really going on in the barn.

Fifteen years worth of memories, and pictures of a smiling girl and her loving father – and they're lies. Was any of it real? Were the first fifteen years of my life just a pile of lies?" she looked to Bucky as though he might have the answer. "Now I just feel like I'm constantly waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under me again. I mean if my dad could lie to me like that for years, what's stopping other people from doing the same?"

Bucky kept his eyes cast down, chewing furiously at the skin on his lip. He didn't have the faintest idea what to say that could make Charlie feel better, and he could feel it. He felt her pain, and her confusion, and he wished he had the answers for her, that he knew what to say that could make her feel better about her father. Instead he held her even tighter against his body, hoping that the little bit of extra warmth might provide her some sense of comfort.

"This," he murmured softly, shaking his head as he chuckled lightly in disbelief.

"What?"

"Why you," he whispered, answering her question from earlier, looking up, catching her eyes. "You know. You know what it's like to suddenly find yourself second-guessing everything you've ever known, the people around you, and even yourself." He removed his arm from around her shoulders, and reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. The pad of his thumb stroked one of her fingers as they bent, cradling his in the spaces between them.

"For the record," he cleared his throat, feeling his heart set to race again. "I happen to like the girl behind the mask."

Charlie looked down, smiling shyly as she squeezed his hand. "You're the first person I've told, about that Christmas. Actually, it's the most personal thing I've told anyone about my dad," she confessed.

"Not even Rossi?"

Shaking her head sadly, she met his gaze again and explained. "Dave and the team are more there for moral support, but we don't really talk about him outside of the case."

"Why not?"

"It makes them uncomfortable," she shrugged helplessly. "The BAU is all about being objective, and talking about him outside of the case makes it personal. They can't see him as just another psychopath anymore, not if they start seeing his as someone with a job and a family – a real person.

I mean, how can you take the stand as a professional witness, and say someone deserves the death penalty if you know that they spent every Saturday in the stands of their daughter's baseball games, cheering like crazy? Or knowing that they spent hours every night, after pulling a double shift at the auto shop, and working the farm, helping her puzzle through her geometry homework? You can't. You can't do the job when it's personal. It's just not possible."

"So you just keep all that to yourself?" Bucky wondered. There was a lot of crap in his life, hundreds memories floating around, but he had Steve; he had someone he could share all of that with. He couldn't imagine what that must feel like, to have thousands of memories of someone, and not being able to share them with anyone, how isolating it must be.

Charlie looked at him, and exhaled slowly with a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She didn't say anything. Didn't have to. The pained expression behind her eyes spoke enough to fill volumes.

"You didn't have to tell me any of this," Bucky whispered, voice catching in the back of throat. She trusted him, someone she hardly knew, with something she hadn't even told the members of her team, people she had known for years. He gulped slowly, trying to swallow the possible implications back down.

"I know," she bobbed her head in agreement. "It just felt like I found someone I _could_ tell. Someone who, for the first time in a long time, made me feel a little less alone."

Bucky blinked rapidly, fighting a losing battle to keep the smile off his face. "I'm glad," he whispered as she shifted in place to look at him. "Cause you make me feel less alone too," he confessed tilting his head a little to the side.

He didn't know what it was, but there was something in the silence, calling to him. The longer he looked at her under the pale glow of the lights reflecting up from the streets the faster his heart raced in his chest. He could feel it, whatever it was between them, every second growing stronger until his mouth turned to ash, and he found it difficult to breath. Bucky could have sworn he was drowning; only he knew he was on dry land, and the river was miles away. What's more, he knew Charlie felt it too. Her skin felt flushed in his hand, and though no one spoke, her cheeks were a faint scarlet, something she tried to keep hidden by bowing her head forward so her hair masked her face from his sight – but he still saw it.

He felt an ache in his chest, a dull pain screaming for him to kiss her. He wanted to in the worst way, to smooth the hair from her face, take her in the palm of his hands and kiss her. To show her everything he felt, and been feeling from the moment he first saw her in the waiting room at Quantico, to prove to her that some things in life were still real.

Closing his eyes, Bucky leaned his head back against the rail, and let out a shaky breath. _Not yet,_ he reminded himself. There would be a time for all of that, just not yet. "So," he started, trying to do something to ease the mounting tension between them, "you looking for anything in particular at the market?" he asked, recalling her plans for brunch and the farmer's market tomorrow with the Garcia woman.

"It's a stupid little habit of mine," Charlie confessed with a tiny smile, as she drew her knees up close to her chest. "But after we get back from a case I always buy myself some flowers. Just a little something colourful and cheery to remind myself that there's still some beauty in the world."

"That's cute," he grinned, falling in love with the sweet simplicity of the idea. "What kinds do you usually get?"

"Either tulips or gerbera daisies. I love them – especially the orange ones," she confessed. "Though I almost always end up buying both – I can never decide which I like more."

Chuckling Bucky was about to comment when a loud buzz came vibrating from his pocket. Slightly flushed from embarrassment he excused himself as he dug out the phone. It was a text from Steve.

 _Are you still with Charlie? Just make sure you use protection – I'm not ready to become uncle Steve._

"Steve?" Charlie giggled, getting up on to her feet.

Heaving an aggravated sigh, Bucky tucked the phone back into his pocket before getting up. "I should probably get going," he grumbled regretfully. "Need to go beat some respect into that little punk."

"Not so little anymore," Charlie laughed, reminding Bucky that he and Steve were roughly the same size now.

Crawling back through the window into the empty apartment, Charlie made her way into the kitchen to drop off her bottle in the sink. She'd have to clean up the glass from where James broke his earlier – later though. Turning around to escort him to the door, she found Bucky looking at her strangely. "What?" she laughed as she smiled at him, cocking her head curiously to the side.

"Nothing," Bucky shook his head as he shrugged. "Just that, I'd really like to kiss you good night, but I won't. Not until I get that sign."

Resting her hand on the doorknob Charlie smiled as she thanked him again for walking her home, letting her borrow his jacket, keeping her company, and just for the night in general.

"It was both my privilege and my pleasure," Bucky assured her, zipping up his jacket, searching new ways to delay his departure just a little bit longer. He was about to say something else when she leaned up, gently pressing her lips against the rough stubble on his cheek.

"Still not the sign," she whispered through her smile, leaving him wondering if she could hear his heart skip a beat just now. She opened the door, bidding him one final good night.

Rounding the corner from the final flight of stairs, Spencer took a couple startled steps back when he encountered Bucky, leaving his apartment. He looked over, and saw a giddy looking Charlie leaning against the doorframe watching the super soldier, sporting an expression that could only be described as hopelessly smittened, begin the long descent towards the first floor. Her hair was slightly mussed in the back, but the excited glow beneath her skin quickly fizzled out when she spotted Spencer standing in the hallway. Her smile fell flat, and her eyes looked up in horror.

"You're still up?" Reid asked as he walked past an oblivious Bucky.

"Nothing happened," she explained quickly to Spence as he walked through the front door.

"Why? What could have happened?" Reid wondered cluelessly, bewildered by Charlie's sudden change in demeanour.

Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled Reid into a tight embrace. "And this is why I love you," she confessed, before locking the door behind them for the night.

* * *

Having always been an early riser, Charlie opened the door the following morning, around ten thirty, after the second knock, determined not to let it wake Spence. She'd been up for a couple hours anyways, working on the sketches she'd said she was going to do the night before. Her unplanned, but much enjoyed, heart to heart with James left her work neglected another night. Feeling guilty, she went to bed as soon as Spence got home from the bar, and got up extra early to make some segue on the sketches.

Opening the door, she was surprised to see Garcia holding a bouquet of flowers. Penelope was expected. The flowers were not. "What, you couldn't wait for the market?" asked Charlie, with an amused chuckle, ushering Garcia into the small apartment.

"These were on your door step," Garcia announced passing over the bouquet to Charlie. " Someone has an admirer," she teased with a saucy grin.

Taking a look down at the flowers in her arm, Charlie realized they were orange gerbera daisies. _No_ she thought, trying to silence the screaming in her head. She knew exactly who they were from – when did he drop them off? Shouldn't she have heard him come by?

"I need to put these in water," Charlie announced, setting the bouquet down on the table. She knew Spence didn't actually own a vase so she'd have either use a pasta pot or a glass – if he had one large enough.

"Are they from who I think they're from?" Garcia probed excitedly.

"They're from James," Charlie confirmed, causing Garcia to squeal in place, especially when she saw the embarrassed grin break out on Charlie's face. She didn't know why, but she also told Garcia it was officially the first time a man ever bought her flowers.

"Marry the boy," she demanded immediately after squealing slightly, most likely waking Reid from his sleep. Charlie laughed as she added quickly, "just not before Morgan and me."

Getting the tallest pot Reid owned down from to the top cupboard Charlie flicked the tap on. Testing the water first she began to fill the pot with temped water as Garcia continued to ramble excitedly.

"There's a card," Garcia pointed to a little cream envelope jutting out from the bright yellow tissue paper wrapped around them as she passed the bouquet to Charlie.

Setting the bouquet down gently on the counter she picked up the cream coloured envelope with her name written in smooth blue ink. Pulling the card out, she flipped it over, and saw four letters that stopped her heart as it leapt into her throat.

 _Real._

 _P.S_

 _Technically Steve paid, so I didn't break any rules_

Seeing the way she clapped one hand over her mouth, attempting to hide the giant grin on her face, as the card trembled slightly in the other, Garcia had to see what was written that sent Charlie into such a state. "I don't get it," she said, reading the card over her shoulder. "What exactly happened last night?"

Quickly snipping away at the plastic and elastics around the stems keeping them bound together, Charlie set the flowers in the pot – mentally adding 'vase' to the list of things to keep an eye out for at the market. "We can walk and talk," she informed Penelope, quickly grabbing her bag and keys by the door. She didn't want Reid over hearing anything about last night – he believed nothing happened, and she didn't want him thinking otherwise.

Looking back at the flowers sitting in the pot on the kitchen counter, smiling back at her, as she ushered the confused Penelope out the door, Charlie smiled. She agreed. _Real._


	5. The Class

Bright overhead fluorescent lights, and a chorus of steady Latin beats already blaring over the stereos, welcomed Charlie and her friends to the dance studio. A few people had already arrived, but the spacious studio remained vacant for the most part. Having been to enough of his classes over the years, Charlie knew Javier was close by; he probably just stepped out to refill his water bottle between classes.

Pointing over to the corner at the far end of the studio, in the front, Charlie, motioned for Spence and Garcia to follow her to the spot. The front offered them the best view and was, in her opinion, the best place for beginners.

"So, you think he's going to show up?" Garcia wondered setting her water bottle on the floor just below the mirrors lining the wall.

"Who?" inquired Reid, setting his and Charlie's bottle down by hers.

"Sam, of course," screeched Penelope, astonished Reid forgot that Sam was the only one to take Charlie up on the invite to class that night. She didn't tell Reid that she and Morgan currently had a wager on if the Falcon would show up, and if he'd be bringing his 'friends,' with him.

"If he does, he does. If he don't, he don't," Charlie shrugged. She was there to get a workout, sweat, and have some fun. All things, Garcia liked to remind her, that she could have if she had a man – and she wouldn't have to pay $15/hour for it either.

"Remind me again how I let you talk me into doing this?" Reid demanded taking a place next to Charlie. Looking around he saw everyone else, Charlie included, had begun stretching in preparation for their class. Watching her move in the mirror, Reid attempted to mimic her actions.

"It was either Zumba with me, or running with Morgan," Charlie reminded them both, with a flippant smile, that they had field fitness test coming up, and Morgan would not being riding in, like he did last year, to get them out of it.

"Oh that's right," Reid's shoulders sagged slightly. "You were the lesser of two evils."

"Oh come on Spence," Charlie sighed, changing from warrior to triangle pose. "Once the music starts you won't even notice you're working out, plus it'll improve your coordination. It'll be fun. You'll see."

"You and I have radically different definitions of fun," Reid reminded her bitterly, as he tried to follow her into the next yoga pose. For some perverse reason Charlie derived pleasure from physical activity that left her with sore muscles and a heaving chest. He preferred to exercise his mind, and play particularly strenuous games of chess in the park on Sunday afternoons, or cruise the theoretical physics section at the bookstore.

"Oh what the hell is that supposed to be?" Charlie wondered, chuckling as she looked over at Reid in the mirror. His limbs we're bent into an awkward angle while his face, red and sweaty, made it look as though he were about to give birth.

"You work out. I don't. It's not like I actually know what I'm doing over here," Reid complained, wobbling out of the pose.

"Here," she stood straight and stepped over to help. "This one will help increase your hip joint flexibility, spine elasticity, and improve circulation," she explained, walking him through standing pulled bow pose. "Okay," she assured him calmly, "now bend forward, at the hips, and keep the leg you have planted on the floor straight. Don't let go of your rising leg. You're doing great Spence," she encouraged, keeping one hand firmly on his hip, while holding his shoulders, helping him sink deeper into the pose.

"Really? Cause this doesn't feel great," Spence whined a little looking over to Charlie for reassurance. "In fact, this feels ridiculous."

"Well maybe if you actually joined us for yoga, then you wouldn't have the flexibility of a ninety-year old man," teased Garcia as she followed their movements with ease. She liked yoga, yoga didn't involve obscene amounts of sweat, plus she could do some poses at her desk while working. On the whole, Garcia was very pro-yoga.

"Told you they were talking about you," Sam teased strutting confidently into the dance studio, with water bottle in hand.

"You know Stevie, I think we've just been insulted," a familiar voice, saturated with mock indignation, followed seconds later.

Abandoning her place by Spencer's side, causing him to wobble out of position, and stumble forward only for Garcia to steady him out, Charlie whipped around, her ponytail nearly smacking Reid in the face. "James?" she asked excitedly, unable to fight the grin illuminating her face as she caught sight of Bucky walking towards her. "You came?"

"Like we'd miss out on a chance to watch Sam fall on his ass," Bucky grinned, rocking back on his heels when he caught Charlie's eyes.

They had been teasing Sam, since Bucky returned home Saturday night, for agreeing to go to Zumba in the first place. Sick and tired of their constant mocking Sam challenged them to put their money where their mouth was, and join him in the class. He also earned Bucky's silence by pointing out that the only reason he agreed to come in the first place was to give _lover boy_ a chance to see his girlfriend again.

"Besides," he added casually with a cocksure grin, "I like dancing."

"Well that makes two of us," Charlie continued smiling at him, ignoring Garcia's tittering, and Reid's eye roll, in the background. Looking past James Charlie raised her hand to acknowledge Sam and Steve's presence as well.

"Hey Charlie," Sam smiled knowingly in her direction as he spotted the matching luminous grins on hers and Barnes' faces – though he had a feeling the smile on Charlie's face wasn't for him, or Steve. He nodded his head, acknowledging Spencer and Penelope as well. Setting his Nike bag down along the front near the mirrored wall next the their things, he took a spot behind Reid and Garcia, and began to stretch.

Steve nodded in Charlie's direction, gracing her with a warm, heartfelt smile. He took his spot next to Sam, never taking his eyes off Bucky. Grinning. The last time Steve saw Bucky get that excited about a woman, Nazi Germany was still a threat, and Steve was still just a skinny kid with way too many health problems.

"I suppose I should be thanking you for the flowers, Captain Rogers," Charlie smiled politely in his direction. "They're lovely," she added, never taking her eyes off Bucky as she spoke, even though she was technically facing Steve.

"That's really not necessary ma'am," Steve flushed. The flowers had been Buck's idea. Dragged him out of bed at the crack of dawn Sunday morning to go to the florists a few blocks away right as they opened, where they proceeded to spend nearly an hour comparing bunches of daisies to a couple handfuls of tulips. It occurred to Steve, as he was handing the shop owner his credit card, just how much Bucky must like this girl if he was willing to go through all this trouble for a few orange looking daisies. "I only paid for them."

"Well thank you anyways," Charlie smiled warmly before a voice, with a thick South American accent that Steve wanted to classify as Cuban, called her name tearing her attention away from the trio.

Standing by the door dressed in a pair of loose fitting, black shorts, and a very tight burgundy muscle tank was an inexplicably handsome man. He kept his lush black hair loose, curling around his ears even though it was long enough to be pulled back to form a small ponytail. His eyes were coffee, warm, rich, potent, but energizing and filled with purpose. He flashed the class a smile, showing off two rows of perfectly straight pearly white teeth, though it wasn't until he caught sight of Charlie that he turned up the luminosity behind that smarmy grin.

He called her name again, approaching the group, the same way one might greet an old friend. Immediately he pulled her in for a one-arm hug, kissing both of her smooth cheeks with his far rougher, stubble filled ones. He followed his greeting with several rapidly spoken words in Spanish. That surprised no one. What did surprise the three vets, watching the exchange, was that Charlie responded with a sweet, almost musical, laugh before replying in equally rapid, flawless Spanish.

They continued their brief conversation until Garcia cleared her throat, clearly begging to be introduced to this fine specimen of man.

"Where are my manners," Charlie pardoned herself for her apparent rudeness. "I hope you don't mind, Javier, I brought some friends with me tonight."

"Any friend of Charlie's is always welcomed in my class," Javier replied with one of his model worthy smiles. "Besides, when was the last time we saw this class so full?"

Going clock wise Charlie made her round of introductions, finishing with Garcia. "Garcia?" Javier brightened quickly. Turning to face the buxom blonde he smiled before beginning another torrid rush of Spanish.

When Garcia said nothing, and shot Charlie a helpless, confused look Charlie cut in. She explained to the bewildered Javier that, despite what her name might suggest, Garcia was not Hispanic. Her stepfather was, but the only Spanish Garcia knew was Morgan's order at Taco Bell.

"Still, I did not expect Charlie to have so many good looking friends. I always thought she was the pretty one," he added looking around at the group. "Now I think I may have been mistaken. It is not a wonder she is always working," he paused, flashing the ladies another warm, flirtatious smile. " Well, I am very happy to have you here. I am even more excited to see so many men; it is nice to have some diversity in my class. Plus the ladies love men who Zumba." Looking to Reid and Sam, he added, "you master the Zumba then you will master the Salsa, and a man who can Salsa is irresistible to all women." When no one replied he looked to the men in general, "you get lost just watch Charlie, she's a great dancer," then turned and strutted towards another group of ladies to introduce himself.

James moved to say something, but was effectively cut off my Penelope clutching onto Charlie's arm. "Thank you for bringing that beautiful, beautiful man into our lives."

"Was it just me or did he seem to think that we won't be able to keep up," Sam questioned; insulted that Javier assumingly believed that they wouldn't be able to keep stride with Charlie and the other women present. "And why did he look at us," he motioned between him and Spence, "when he started talking about being irresistible to women? What? Are we less irresistible than them?" he pointed to Steve and Bucky indignantly.

"To someone like him, yes," Reid answered with an awkward chuckle. When he saw a series of confused, dazed expressions staring back at him he began to clarify what he thought had been the glaringly obvious. "We're the only ones in the group without a mutation in the form of an incredibly low presence of melanin in the stroma, which causes blue and green eyes," he explained quickly, referring to the fact that in the group, only he and Sam had brown eyes. "Javier is from . . . Cuba," he looked to Charlie for clarification. Caught off guard, clearly not listening as her little brother went on another one of his usual tirades, she nodded her head and he continued. "Brown eyes are the dominant eye colour in most of the world – including parts of the US with lower populations of Northern European immigrants. Someone with blue or green eyes would be a rare commodity in places such as Cuba, and subtly suggests a genetic diversity that would be considered extremely desirable when producing offspring.

The concept of having and maintaining family is one of the highest values in Hispanic cultures. So what might have come off as a thinly veiled insult, was actually an attempt to help us develop skills that would then assist in attracting a mate, because he sees us as being at a disadvantage compared to the natural genetic mutation Capt. Rogers and Sgt. Barnes have over us."

"Is that all?" retorted Sam.

"And this is why we don't ask questions around Reid," Garcia mumbled, causing Charlie's face to split into a wide grin.

"What did I do now?" he inquired, lost and confused, looking to Charlie for answers.

"Not a damn thing," she laughed, grabbing him by the head, and placed an affectionate kiss on the side of his head.

"What was that for?"

"Being you," Charlie rubbed his left arm affectionately before leaving the group to grab a quick drink of water before class started.

"I don't know how to be anyone else," he added, eyes squinting, still bewildered by her strange behaviour.

"And that's why we love you," Garcia added, kissing her two fingers and pressing them against his forehead before joining Charlie up at the front of the class.

As she took a gratuitous drink from her black stainless steel water bottle with the FBI logo embossed on the front she heard Garcia softly sing, "Bucky and Charlie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," in her ear. Turning around she gave Garcia an exasperated glare, "What are you going on about now?" she mused, lifting her old baggy Vassar sweatshirt over her head to reveal of teal tank top.

"Nothing, just you and your future husband getting ready to get all hot and sweaty together," teased Garcia giving Charlie a playful nudge. "Oh come on, he totally came here just to see you again," she added when Charlie glared at her for a second time after discarding her sweater in the corner. Though try as she might, she couldn't stop Garcia from spotting the tiny little smile hidden in the corner of her mouth. Just watching Charlie's entire face glow whenever she caught Bucky's eye in the mirror was enough to warm Garcia's heart and fill her with all sorts of warm fuzzy feelings. But before she could tease her friend about it any more Javier's smooth, velvetesque voice rang out for the class to begin, and asked everyone to take their places.

Zumba was nothing like what Bucky, or Steve expected. The music was fast, and the steps even quicker. It had all started easily enough. When Javier called for the class to begin he started them all off with slow marching, child's play for three vets like Steve, Sam and Buck. It was the parts that came after that had Bucky and Steve tripping all over themselves.

They watched in mixed awe and horror at the way Javier moved his feet, and rolled his body. The more they tried to follow the surer they became that the man simply had no bones in his body. What the hell kind of dancing was this? Back in the day dancing involved partners, lifts, spins, dips, and fun. This was sweat, confusion, and hell.

The only joy Bucky took from any of this was when he'd look over in the mirror and watch Charlie. Somehow she managed to follow in perfect time, and always with a smile on her face. She was having a blast. Seeing that, somehow, almost made it all worthwhile – almost.

"I feel like an idiot," Steve grumbled in Bucky's ear, blaming him for their current predicament.

"Come on Stevie," Bucky whispered back after a haphazard spin. "We all look like idiots."

Almost as if to prove his point, on cue, Charlie called out, "arms wider Penelope." To which she replied, "I'll give you wider arms," under her breath, followed by a few choice words. She and Reid struggled to keep up with Charlie and Javier with their 'African arms.'

"Come on, keep up grandpas," Sam mocked nearly running over Steve, who missed a step in his grumbling to Bucky. Sam, as it turned out, was a natural. It took him a quick minute or so of observation before he picked up the steps, following them almost in beat with the instructor. "Look alive, otherwise we might need to call medi-care."

 _Nothing more than some good-natured ribbing,_ Bucky reminded himself. Sam earned it, after all the crap he took from him and Steve regarding running. He was a good sport most of the time. The sound of Charlie's sweet Southern twang calling out, 'go Sam' cut through Bucky's thoughts. Looking back at her in the mirror he smiled again.

'Eyes on him," she mouthed, motioning for James to be looking at Javier, not watching her, with a tilt of her head.

'Sorry,' he mouthed back. Why? He didn't know. Javier told them to watch Charlie if they got lost, he was just doing what the instructor told them – even if it wasn't for the reason he told them to.

At one point, when he and Steve were beyond hopelessly lost, Bucky overheard Javier call Charlie's name and usher her a command in Spanish. She immediately stopped what she was doing, much to his chagrin; the only good thing about being so utterly clueless was that it gave him an excuse to watch her as she rolled her hips to the beat, and the not so innocent thoughts it induced. Bucky continued to watch as she came up behind Reid, who stood in front of Sam on his left. Placing both her hands on his hips she helped guide Reid until his body rolled smoothly to the music rather than the near spastic convulsing he'd been doing prior to her assistance.

Then she moved on to Garcia, in front of Steve on his right. Again she addressed Garcia's problems. Though Garcia whispered something that brought a smile to Charlie's face before whispering something back that made Penelope burst out in a fit of giggles. Apologizing to Javier, they turned matching shades of pink when he looked back and scowled at them for interrupting his Zumba with giggling.

After helping Penelope, Charlie made her way to the back row, helping Steve first, then Sam – not that Sam actually needed any help. He appeared to be doing just fine on his own. Finally, she came up behind Bucky, and he felt the warmth of her breath on his neck as her hands wrapped around his waist, grabbing hold of his hips. "You need to loosen your hips a bit – you're too tense," she whispered in his ear. Together their bodies moved in unison as he reacted to her touch, following her body's guidance. "There you go, just feel the rhythm."

Bucky suppressed a groan, trying not to think about the proximity of their bodies, or how good it felt having her hands on him.

Either sensing his frustrations or reading his mind she leaned in even closer, and whispered, "still not the sign."

This time Bucky didn't bother trying to hold back his groan. Why did it have to be so hard? "You're killing me, you know that Rhys?" he wondered, catching the mischievous glint in her eyes he added, "and if I didn't know better I'd say you were doing it on purpose."

"A girl's got to have her fun somehow," Charlie replied with a coy smile and flirtatious wink.

Before he had a chance to reply, call her a dirty little tease, or tell her exactly what he'd like to do about it, she sauntered back to the front of the class to help Garcia with a different motion. While she wandered around, helping the other students where she could, her eyes seldomly left his, and he knew.

This woman had him in the palm of her hand. And what more? He could care less. So long as she kept looking at him like that, like there was some great joke that only the two of them were privy to, then he didn't care. He could not thank Sam enough for agreeing to go to Zumba, he'd have to buy him coffee, or a case of beer, or something.

At the end of class, hair damp and body soaked with sweat Charlie grabbed her water bottle. Taking large gulps, pausing to pour some of the water on her face, she drank until her chest finally stopped heaving. After nearly five years of attending classes she still failed to leave without looking as though she'd been pushed into the pool.

"What? Did someone finally take the battery pack out of the energizer bunny?" called Sam, coming up to grab his own bottle of water from the front. "Jesus Rhys, I'm exhausted just watching you."

Laughing awkwardly, Charlie turned around to face the group again. Steve and James were the only ones not to be thoroughly drenched in sweat, but even they glistened slightly beneath the overhead lights. "I'm what you call a little high energy," she explained, Southern twang coming through stronger than usual. It tended to happen after a good workout, when she was too tired to bother hiding her roots. "Guess I was just born that way."

"Actually," Reid wheezed between gulps of water. Having polished off his own meagre bottle of Evian, he was now working his way through Charlie's bottle, all the while trying to get his chest to stop burning and his heartbeat to return to normal. "An argument can be made that your dad conditioned you to be that way. By keeping you active, in organized activities like baseball, gymnastics, dance classes and so on, it meant that you were seldom home, not only keeping you safe from his psychopathic urges but also making it less likely you'd notice any peculiar behaviour on his part. By keeping you busy, he was effectively keeping his alternate persona secret."

Bucky's eyes immediately darted over to Charlie, and he began replaying parts of their conversation form Saturday night. _I don't know what's real anymore. Did he really believe I was going somewhere? Or was he just trying to keep me out of the house so I wouldn't notice what was really going on in the barn?_

If those thoughts flickered in Charlie's mind they way the did in his, she showed no sign of it. The mask was back on. She stared at Reid with a face of cool marble. "That's five dollars in the jar," she pinched at his side, making his squirm out of her way.

"At least," Garcia agreed, though the small snort of derision she made suggested she thought he owed more, but wouldn't press the issue.

Steve contemplated asking about 'the jar,' but decided that he really didn't want to know. The more time he spent amongst the BAU the more he determined that profilers were a peculiar breed, no action, or question was safe from their watchful gaze. He still recalled the way Charlie gleaned so many details about Buck just from watching him sweat for five minutes in Quantico. He really didn't want to know what she had picked up about him.

"It's like a swear jar," Charlie explained, catching the puzzled look on Steve's face. "We're a team, we're not supposed to be profiling each other. So whenever one of us breaks that rule the member they profiled determines how much the offending party owes and they have to donate to the jar. Reid is our top donor, ain't that right little brother," she smiled playfully, ruffling his hair.

"It's official," Sam announced looking around at the group. "All profilers are freaks," he added a light-hearted chuckle, in case the fact that he was teasing was not immediately apparent. "I'm just amazed we found someone actually able to keep up with the super dorks," he motioned to Steve and Bucky, who gave him matching unimpressed glares.

"Sam," Charlie scolded lightly, "that's not nice. You're supposed to respect your elders, not insult them," she added before joining Penelope and Sam in laughing.

"Very funny," Bucky grumbled, eyes darkening. He _never_ got tired of age jokes.

"Come on, lets go hit the showers," Steve nudged his friend with the back of his hand. Last thing he wanted was Buck going to the dark place.

"Yeah, I don't know about you guys, but I need one," Sam announced, lifting his shirt slightly to expose a perfect set of six-pack abs.

Catching sight of Sam's exposed mid-drift Garcia let out a small, strangled whimper. Between their gorgeous instructor and his snake hips, and the impressive view from Sam, it was slowly turning into one of Garcia's best nights.

"She okay?" Sam nodded over in Penelope's direction.

"Fine." Charlie replied with an amused smile. "Garcia just has a thing for beautiful black men."

Swatting her arm Garcia corrected, "people. They don't have to be black, or men." She gave Charlie a playful purr before adding, "Speaking of beautiful people, perhaps we'll finally be seeing the rest of that little hip tattoo of yours."

"You wish," Charlie teased back with a chuckle and wide grin. "I'm going to be showering far away from you."

"Well, a girl can dream," sighed Garcia breathily.

"Garcia, what am I going to do with you? Charlie laughed again. At least she could always count on Garcia's flirtations to give her self-esteem a boost if she was ever feeling low. Worked just about every time.

"Spank me?" came Garcia's saucy retort, full of mock innocence, and complete with a flirtatious wink.

"Oh no," Charlie argued shaking her head. "That is Morgan's job."

"Hmm, too true," Penelope agreed.

"Well just keep me away Sgt. Six pack over there," Steve teased with a humorous grin. "Might be bad for the self-esteem. I didn't quite get the work out I was expecting."

"Yeah, cause I bet you two look real disgusting under those muscle tees of yours," scoffed Charlie with a skeptical shake of her head.

Exchanging smirks, both Bucky and Steve lifted their shirts to show off matching pairs of six pack abs that rivalled Sam's. Not one to be outshone, Sam lifted his shirt back up, giving Charlie and Penelope an eyeful of the combined eighteen pack.

"Idiots," Charlie whispered under her breathe with an amused expression as she rolled her eyes.

"God bless Ab-merica," Garcia whimpered, not taking her eyes off the three exposed bodies in front of her.

"Don't make me tell Morgan on you," Charlie mused back to her friend. Without looking at the guys, her eyes swept the room and noticed a gaggle of women in one corner ogling James and his friends, giggling excitedly amongst themselves. "Would y'all put your shirts back on," she instructed in a suddenly less than impressed tone, "before Javier needs a mop to clean up the excess drool."

Bucky was the first to obey Charlie's orders. Looking over in the direction of her finger he noticed the ladies still tittering and smiling in their direction. Out of habit he smiled back at them before looking back to the others. "Come on, let's go hit the showers and get changed."

Steve and Sam turned to follow suit. Whether it was part of their plan to be stopped by the gaggle of women, or if they had genuinely wanted to get to showers, no one knew. But the small mob of women prevented the guys from getting into the change rooms. Their plans were further thwarted when one of the girls realized that Steve was, in fact, Captain America.

Laughing, Charlie and Garcia watched in amusement while James and the guys chatted with their new found groupies, as they tried making their way to the showers. Turning around to tease Reid about having some competition she noticed Spencer standing off on the other side of the room, eyes cast downwards and he chewed on his lip furiously.

Telling Penelope she'd meet her in the change room, Charlie broke away from her colleague and headed over in Reid's direction. "Hey little brother," she whispered in a soft, soothing voice. "What's eating you?"

"What? Nothing?" Reid replied quickly, startled by Charlie's sudden presence. "I just thought maybe I'd shower at home instead," he added, not taking his eyes off the small mob now surrounding Steve and co.

"Why? This doesn't have anything to do with the gun show earlier, does it?" wondered Charlie with a carefully arched brow.

"It's nothing," Reid attempted to brush her off and move towards the door.

"Reid, come on," Charlie reached out, preventing him from a clean escape. "Talk to me," she pleaded softly. It was unbearable for her to see Reid feeling that way.

"It's bad enough I have to share a locker room with Morgan," he sighed, turning back to face her. Together they moved over to the mirrored wall before sliding down to the ground, sitting shoulder to shoulder. "But now it's like sharing a room with three Morgans."

"And you're feeling inadequate because you don't look the way they do?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Charlie still left it open for Reid to explain as little or as much as he wanted.

" I mean how am I supposed to compete with that?" he demanded, gesturing back in their direction. "Look at how women just flock to them, all because they lifted up their shirts. They have it so easy. Women never look at me like that." The meek voice that delivered that last sentence broke Charlie's heart.

"Hey," she scolded softly, lifting his chin up form where Spencer had buried it against his chest, resting his nose against his drawn up knees. "Don't you go selling yourself short like that. You got plenty to offer. And someday someone is going to be lucky enough to find out just how much you have to offer them. You just haven't found them yet."

Looking over at her Reid rolled his eyes. It was the same pep talk he heard back in high school, college, grad school, and in the academy. Only now instead of it being his mom, or Gideon telling him how he was a special little snow flake and he just needed to find someone who liked smart guys, it was his best friend.

"Spencer Reid you stop that now," Charlie scolded. "You are not rugged and manly like James and his friends – that much is true."

"And this is supposed to make me feel better?" he looked over at her skeptically.

"Shut up and listen," she pushed him playfully with her shoulder. "You ain't in the same class as them, but you're in a class all your own. You got a sweetness to you, with a pretty, kind face. Did every hooker hit on Morgan when we worked that case with Detective McGee? No. Those women are use to men who look like Morgan, big tough guys, but they liked you."

"Great, so you're suggesting I exclusively date hookers? That's not pathetic."

"Would you let me talk?" Charlie swatted the back of his head, loosing patience with his self-pity. "They liked you cause you're kind looking, and sweet. Hell you're the sweetest guy I know." Catching his skeptical glare, Charlie continued, "it's true. How many times have you let me sleep on your couch when things get too crazy over at my place? Or stay up late at night with me watching vintage horror movies, and Doctor Who reruns? Plus who else takes the time to write a letter to their mother every day because they know how much their mom prefers reading?" She continued listing all the things Reid did on a regular basis for Charlie, and the rest of the team. "Plus, whether you believe it or not, you are pretty easy on the eyes there, pretty boy," she teased with Morgan's usual nickname for the genius.

"It is going to take a very special woman to sweep Spencer Reid off his feet," she added give him a tender smile. "I mean lets face it, we're BAU, we don't do well with the average folk – we're married to the job. Think about it, of all the relationships that have worked, JJ met Will, a homicide detective, when we worked that Jones case down in New Orleans, and Morgan and Garcia are dating each other! I mean I think it was kind of lucky that Beth's job took her to New York, that way it's not just Hotch constantly leaving her behind at home whenever a case comes up, they're already doing the long distance thing – which I hope works out for them. We don't have regular relationships. We can't."

"I know," Reid sighed, smiling meekly over at her. "It's just that . . . since Maeve, I've been . . . lonely, you know?"

"Oh, trust me," Charlie exhaled slowly, "I know." She could scarce recall the last time she actually had a first date, let alone a second. Her job wasn't the only thing that was bad for a love life. Most guys could get on board with dating a federal agent, her father on the other hand, well that tended to be a deal breaker for most. It was one of the reasons she loved working in foreign countries, most people there had never even heard of the name Lewis Rhys, or if they had it meant next to nothing to them.

Licking his lips, Spencer contemplated not asking, before deciding to just go for it anyways. "Can I ask you something . . . personal?"

"Shoot."

"How long has it been since . . . you know?" His ears turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Even after he stopped talking, the subject of his question continued the flush now spreading down to his cheeks.

"Oh God," Charlie leaned back, pressing the skin of her expose neck against the cool mirrors. "Let's see, today makes it . . . ten months and two weeks, or three hundred and eighteen days." Spencer stared at her, stunned by such a precise answer. Chuckling Charlie looked over at him, "Tomas and I had quickie the morning I left Buenos Aires."

"Wow," Reid breathed. He didn't expect it have been such a long time for Charlie. He hated to admit it, but it kind of made him feel better to know that it had almost been as long for Charlie as it had been for him. "How do you do it?" he wondered.

"Let's just say I've become very attached to my shower head, and its thirteen different settings," she laughed as Reid turned an even brighter shade of pink but laughed along with her, relieved in knowing he wasn't alone. "Besides, if it gets to that one year mark, I might be making a very expensive booty call to Argentina."

"Did you know that shower heads and electric toothbrushes are the most common household items women use to masturbate?" Reid prattled off his fact before starting to list the raw data figures to support his claims.

"You mean to tell me even my shower head is cheating on me? Rat bastard."

Reid burst out laughing as Charlie continued with her mock indignation. Smiling he looked over at Charlie. "You're my best friend, you know that?"

"Right back at ya," Charlie grinned leaning over to rest against him. "I don't go talking about Fabio to just anyone you know," she teased a bit more, revealing the name she'd given her shower. After a moment of mutual chuckling Charlie looked back over at Reid. "So, you feel better yet?" she wondered.

"Yeah, yeah I am," he agreed smiling at her.

"Great, cause I thought of another thing that'd make you smile," she added with a mischievous glimmer twinkling behind her eye.

"Oh?" Spence wondered, getting up from where they'd been sitting. Turning a round he reached out a hand to help Charlie back onto her feet.

"Yeah," Charlie smirked, grabbing hold of his hand. "You're feeling jealous and inferior because you're single." With a firm grasp she pulled herself up, leaning in close to Reid she whispered in his ear, "well those guys look the way they do, but they're all single too."

"That's right," Reid beamed suddenly before adding, "well not all of them," catching the way James was looking over at them from where he stood by the door. Reid smiled seeing the mildly concerned look cloud Sgt. Barnes' handsome face as he watched Charlie. As they approached the door to the different change rooms, Charlie smiled at Reid and gave his arm an affectionate rub, watching him smile at James before disappearing into the locker room.

"So?" she asked curiously twiddling her fingers behind her back as she caught James' eye, "what'd you think of Zumba?"

Chuckling uneasily Bucky looked down at the smirking FBI agent. "It was . . . interesting," his voice faltered as he looked for the right words to describe the experience. "Don't really think it's my kinda scene though. Think I prefer the kind of dancing we did back in my day. Hey, is everything okay with your friend Reid? You two looked kind of . . . serious."

"Everything's fine," nodded Charlie. Reid's insecurities were safe with her. "Why? You jealous?"

"Do I have a reason to be?" Bucky wondered, toying nervously with the tag on the back of his shirt. He didn't want to be the jackass who got jealous cause his girl was close to guys; especially cause Charlie wasn't even his girl, not officially. Besides, most of her colleagues were men, she just seemed so close with Reid, and he wondered if maybe they were one of those 'friends with benefits' he'd heard so much about from Nat.

"No," she replied point blank. "Reid's Reid, we go way back, but he's family – besides, I kind of have a rule about dating colleagues. I don't." _I used to also have a rule about not dating people I was assigned to evaluate – but thanks to you that's blown to hell now,_ she added mentally with a coy smile.

"What?" Bucky wondered in amusement, noticing the smile toying on her lips.

"Nothing," she grinned. "You did good out there today."

"I looked like an idiot," he countered.

"Yeah, but on the bright side, at least you managed to keep up with me."

"How is that a bright side?" wondered Bucky, curious as to where Charlie was going with all of this.

Biting down on her bottom lip Charlie leaned up on her toes, whispering in his ear, "I don't sleep with guys who can't keep up." Without looking back to gauge a reaction she turned on the balls of her feet, and headed towards the ladies locker room for a sorely needed shower.

Bucky remained firmly planted where he stood, watching as Charlie walked away. His arms crossed in front of his chest, biting down his lower lip suddenly finding it difficult to breath. Oh she was wicked. Wonderfully, deliciously wicked.

"Hey." Steve took Bucky by surprise, making him jump slightly, by popping his head out of the locker room. "You coming?"

"Yep," Bucky nodded quickly, "just give me a minute." Last thing he needed was Sam or Steve seeing the evidence of Charlie's teasing, and the effect it had on him. Once he calmed enough, Bucky whipped his shirt off, slinging it casually over his shoulder, and sauntered into the locker room. Perhaps a good hot shower was exactly what he needed in order to clean up some of the thoughts currently floating around in the back of his mind.


	6. The Friends

Saturdays were always busy. Kids, and teenagers were out of school, most people had the day off from work, and just about everyone had the same idea. Coffee.

Sitting in a corner table of the bustling café; with the largest size coffee cup available in the joint nestled next to a half eaten pumpkin cream cheese muffin; dressed in an emerald green button down shirt, a pair of black dress slacks matched with a pair of black leather ankle boots; pouring over an opened file was Charlie Rhys. Ordinarily either Reid or Rossi would join her at the café for her usual Saturday morning cup of coffee, but not today. Today was special. She was meeting someone else for coffee today, and she was more than nervous, at least judging from the way her foot kept twitching.

Why? She didn't know. She'd done this dozens of times before, not recently but it never really changed, so why was this any different? Oh right, it wasn't so much a question what she was doing that made her nervous, it was who she was meeting and the possible implications it held that had her gnawing furiously at what little finger nails she had left.

After she got his call asking her to meet, she suggested they meet at her favourite coffee house not far from her apartment. Knowing how busy this place could be on a Saturday, she came early, and she came prepared.

Being in the BAU, and the resident forensic artist for the FBI's Washington field office not to be sourced at the Jeffersonian, there was never any shortage of work for Charlie. Her apartment was littered with stacks of case files from all around the country, all stuffed with pictures of human remains, or eyewitness accounts and descriptions of a suspect, and all begged for her attention. Then there were the piles of paperwork that came with her cases for the BAU, reports that needed writing, and accounts that needed filing; it was a miracle she found the time to schedule this meeting in the first place.

Currently she was looking over the case of a convicted serial killer over in Washington who had a date with the hangman's noose come Wednesday night. Together, Reid and Charlie would be flying out Sunday night to conduct the deathbed interviews. Forty-three year old Tristan Katz was convicted back in 2001 for the rape and murder of four women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five with a hammer before disposing of their bodies in back allies of downtown Tacoma, over a two month period. Having barely spoken throughout his trial, it was their job to go and see if Katz had suddenly become any chattier about his crimes in the hours preluding to his death.

So engrossed by the details in Katz's file, and lost in the endless sea of chatter around her, Charlie nearly missed the familiar voice calling her name. She only noticed someone had come up to her when she caught sight of the chair across from her being pulled out from her peripheral vision. Looking up from the open file, and her morning muffin, Charlie found a familiar pair of eyes sitting across from her.

"Sam?" she greeted cheerily. "This is a surprise." Instantly she began to gather up the case documents she had sprawled around the table, inviting him to sit down, and join her. "What are you doing here? I mean sixty-seven blocks is a little out of your way for a cup of coffee don't you think?" she added once he'd sat down.

"How do you know my place is sixty-seven blocks from here?" wondered Sam with a friendly smile, only lightly peppered with suspicion.

"Sam," Charlie gave him a knowing look. "I'm FBI – I could have your entire personal history, credit rating, plus your dating profile on Plenty of Fish sent to my phone in the time it'd take to finish my muffin." She motioned to the nearly finished quick bread next to her coffee, where there was little more than crumbs left.

"Fair enough," nodded Sam with an earnest laugh while wondering who squealed to her about PoF. "I had some business in this part of town and thought I'd stop by for a quick cuppa Joe before heading for home." He paused, giving Charlie a quick look over. "You look nice, you meeting someone?"

Shuffling her papers nervously Charlie smiled down at the table, and nodded. "As a matter of fact I am – in about twenty minutes."

"Really?" Sam didn't look as surprised as his voice might suggest. In fact, he didn't look surprised at all; he looked as though he already knew Charlie was fixed to meet someone at noon. "Good for you," he added after a second with a wide smile. "Did you want some company, or should I leave you to . . ." he motioned to the file still in Charlie's hand, "whatever it is you're working on."

"Preparation," Charlie explained, sliding the file back into her bag as it rested on the floor by her feet. "We fly out for Washington tomorrow to interview a convicted killer before his execution." Her explanation came out bumpy and awkward, realizing how it must sound to someone not familiar with basic BAU procedures, and who would not immediately grasp the value of such interviews.

"You guys do that?" wondered Sam, staring at her, face lined with mild concern. He knew they hunted serial killers, bombers etc – made sense. "What do you get out of that? The guy was already found guilty."

"We do it with all cases involving serial homicide," explained Charlie. "We gather the information to expand our databases. This way we can build a better data network for future profile building – and you'd be surprised just how narcissistic these guys can be, especially once they've exhausted all appeals. Once they realize they don't need the 'you've got the wrong guy' act anymore, more often than not they can't wait to tell anyone who will listen what they've done. We're just hoping that his impending death will help loosen our guy's lips."

"And you do this for all serial killers?" wondered Sam, suddenly intrigued. "Does this mean you'll have to when it comes time for your dad . . ." he couldn't actually bring himself to say the words out loud, not in front of her, but he had been helpless to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"When it comes time for my father's execution?" Charlie finished for him with a sly smirk. "It's alright Sam, I'm not made of glass. I'm not going to break just because you brought him up." Taking a final sip of her diminishing coffee, Charlie set the empty cup down on the table in front of her, and took a deep breath before offering him a kind, polite smile. "Technically yes, the BAU will send agents to interview Lewis Rhys in the days or hours prior to his execution. But it won't be me. Most likely, they'll send Reid and Hotch for the interview."

When Sam gave her a skeptical quirk of his brow, wondering how on earth she could possibly know who they would send to conduct an interview that wouldn't be happening for another eleven months Charlie chuckled, and explained. "Spence knows the details of the case best, aside from Dave and myself, and Hotch has the least problem remaining objective. Whereas I'm his daughter – it's too personal to risk getting me involved. Dave and I are close, and he was the arresting agent, again there are a lot of personal feelings there, and as for the others . . ."

"They want to have your back," Sam finished the thoughts she couldn't quite put into words.

Reid would struggle, knowing what he did about Charlie, but his advanced IQ and general social awkwardness would help soften the blow compared to if they sent someone like Morgan or Prentiss.

"You gonna be there when it happens?"

"Nope." Her answer came quickly, a little too quickly to be honest. Without meeting Sam's curious gaze, she explained. "I haven't seen my father since the day he was arrested, and I have absolutely no intention of changing that fact. I lost him a long time ago - this just makes it official."

While Charlie spoke openly about her father, who he was, and what he did, she kept her head down, and there was a quiet sense of finality in her tone indicating that she had taken just about as much of talking about her father as she could for the time being.

Changing the topic, not that it was a happier one, Sam leaned in. "So you want to talk about what happened Tuesday night, and where you learned to do that?"

"Do what?"

Sam couldn't tell if the agent opposite of him was playing coy, or if so much had transpired between then and now that she had legitimately forgotten about the scene in Starbucks following Zumba that night, either way he figured he'd jog her memory. " You saw Bucky was well on his way to PTSDing all over the place, after he heard those guys yakking away in Russian," he observed, taking a casual sip of his coffee. "You saw the signs, and you knew exactly what to do when he started slipping, and stopped it from escalating." Leaning forward in his seat he spoke quietly so his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, easily lost amongst the bustle in the active café. "The only way you could have recognized those signs was if you've either done counselling for PTSD, or you've been in it."

Sitting back in her seat, Charlie smiled shyly down at her muffin wrapper. "You caught that huh?" she wondered before looking back up at him.

"There's not too much I miss," Sam boasted triumphantly. He had wanted to say something to her about it that night, but after everything that happened, or nearly happened, he figured it was best to save his questions for another day. But he knew he recognized the techniques Charlie had used on Bucky that night, and knew there was no way she could have known about them without being taught, or having used them on herself in the past. And given her family history he was inclined to guess it was the latter rather than the former.

"And here I thought they called you falcon on account of the wings," she teased lightly, picking at the last few crumbs from her muffin.

"Well, Hawkeye was already taken, so we improvised," Sam chuckled. "So which is it?"

Charlie didn't answer him, not directly. Instead she looked up from the table with a sad little look behind her wild green, cat like eyes. "Fun fact," were the first words she said, after finally responding to his question. Peeling the sleeve off her coffee cup she started tearing it to tiny pieces, something to distract her from Sam's penetrating gaze as she spoke. "Did you know that one study found that children placed in Foster Care were 25% more likely to develop PTSD than combat veterans?" She didn't give Sam a chance to answer before adding, "that number's not really all that surprising when you consider the fact that same study found that about 1 in 3 children in the system report instances of abuse or neglect, after they get out of the system. Of course, by that time it's usually too late to do anything about it."

"You were in the system," Sam struggled to breathe, the weight of her revelation sent him staggering back into his seat. He'd never been in the system himself, but he knew others who had; he heard the horror stories of the abuse and neglect that took place in some of those homes. Riley had been a foster kid, he'd been one of the lucky ones though, had a good family who genuinely cared about him, but that wasn't always the case.

"Yeah," Charlie nodded as a dark shadow passed over her face. Her focus remained trained at an empty space on the table between them – she couldn't stand to see the look of sympathetic pity on Sam's face.

"What happened?"

"Same old story," she shrugged, still tearing away at her coffee sleeve until there was nothing more than a pile of recycled cardboard pieces on the table. Then she set into her coffee cup. "I had no other family, so after my dad was arrested, and confessed, child services came for me. They quickly realized I couldn't stay in Scottsborough."

The people of her hometown were out for blood, in light of her father's crimes, and Charlie became a prime target for that rage. They couldn't touch Lewis Rhys so long as he sat in the safety of his prison cell, but they could go after Charlie, and show him the pain of losing a daughter. Everyone involved in her case was in agreement. It wasn't safe for her to stay in Scottsborough anymore.

Turns out her father had made good on his promise after all. She got out of Scottsborough, and it was all thanks to him.

"So they shipped me off to Georgia with nothing more than a suitcase. Now I dunno if my social worker was stupid, or just plain cruel, but apparently it never occurred to anyone that word of who my dad was might get out of Tennessee, or to give me a new identity." Her voice caught slightly in her throat as she recalled the day her first foster family realized who she was, and what her father had done. She could still hear the crash of glass shattering as her foster mother threw picture frames, and a vase against the wall by Charlie's head, screaming for her to get out, and to stay far away from them. Child services came the next day to take her to a new family elsewhere. It was a pity. She had actually liked them.

"I changed foster families six times, for one reason or another, in the four months I was in the system."

"But someone got you out?" Sam hoped quietly. She was fifteen at the time of her father's arrest, she should have remained in the system until she was eighteen unless someone came forward to claim her, a distant relative from her mother's family perhaps?

"Yeah," Charlie smiled for the first time since she started talking about her experiences in the system, but it wasn't the happy kind of smile Sam had been hoping for, it was sad, but most of all it was tired.

"Eventually I made my way up to DC, where I ran into one of the agents who worked my dad's case. He recognized me, and after he found out what happened, he took me in." She paused, smiling down at the table as tears from poignant memories stung her eyes.

Rossi.

She'd never forget standing in the hall of his downtown apartment, in her dirty, ripped and baggy clothes, holding onto the fluffy towel he'd given her for a shower – it was so soft, softer than anything she'd ever felt before. After Dave ordered them something for dinner that night he found her standing exactly where he'd left her, sobbing hysterically, too afraid to wipe away her tears in fear of getting his crisp, white towel dirty with her face. Dave held her as she cried, assuring her it was over; it was all over. Everything she had been through was nothing more than a memory now. He would see to that. That was the night her life changed for the better.

It was Dave who got Charlie the help she needed. He was the one who realized she was suffering from PTSD, not only from what she'd been through living on the streets, but with her father as well. Weeks after moving into the guest house on his property he got her in to see a therapist, one who specialized in cases like Charlie's – homeless youths with traumatic pasts. Even after turning eighteen she continued to live with Dave, but now insisted on paying him rent. Recalling her love of art in the brief time he'd gotten to know her while working the case, he insisted she could pay him by giving him a new drawing each month. Too late to go back to school, Charlie got her GED in a year with Dave's help, and applied to art school right after. He was so proud the day she got her acceptance letter to Vassar. Both he and Jason were in the crowds the day she got her degree. That fall she started at the academy.

Everything she had, everything that she was, was a result of that night in Dave's apartment.

"Jesus, Charlie," Sam clapped a hand over his mouth. He didn't know whether he should be in awe, or horrified by the story he was hearing. He was caught somewhere in the mix.

"The years following my father's arrest were turbulent to say the least," she continued to stare at the growing mountain of ripped up cardboard confetti. "And they definitely left their mark," she sighed, her gaze reaching Sam's for the first time in a while. "I still have nightmares, and I avoid Bruce Springsteen like it's the plague," she confessed, reminding him of the fact that he father used to listen to the Boss when he was with his victims. "I carried a lot of guilt with me for a long time over what _he_ did, there were just so many questions – why didn't I see the signs? How could I not know what he was doing? Why didn't I do anything to stop him? Everyone else blamed me for what he did, and so did I – after all, you tell a pup it's a cat long enough, eventually it'll start meowing." She wiped away at a few bitter tears.

Everything she described fit into the third category of PTSD – delayed. It was the same kind Sam knew Bucky suffered from. The kind that could be triggered after being dormant for months on end, usually by an anniversary of the traumatic event, or an event that triggers memories of the trauma. It was the kind of anxiety they would carry with them for the rest of their lives. Therapy helped, training them to cope with the memories and flashbacks so in the rare occasion their PTSD flared up, they knew how to treat themselves. Obviously it had worked for Charlie.

In the days following that night after Zumba, Sam replayed the events at the Starbucks in his mind over and over again. Starting from the second Bucky tensed when he heard the men conversing in Russian, to the moment Charlie had him relaxed and his breathing returned to normal. According to the genius kid that trotted around with her, they were merely discussing the masked vigilante that had been operating in Hell's Kitchen, back in New York, and how apparently he was giving the mobs a rough time – about time, in Sam's opinion, but that was besides the point. But there was something about the way they spoke, and the way they were dressed that had triggered Bucky. He recalled the way she immediately seemed to sense him start slipping before the rest of them clued in. How she got Bucky to concentrate on his breathing before giving him something else to focus on, making him listen to the sound of her voice, and the patience she demonstrated as she slowly brought him out of the dark corners of his memory, and back to reality.

Now it made sense. They were the same techniques she had been taught to use on herself when her own PTSD flared up. He couldn't help but wonder, just how often did she have to use them?

"Why tell me all this? You could have just told me to go to hell."

"Because," Charlie shrugged again, "you've been there, laying in the sweat soaked sheets, begging for forgiveness from the ghosts you can't leave behind."

"Yeah," Sam nodded solemnly. "That was definitely a rough time."

 _That was this morning,_ Charlie sighed. Looking at the way Sam was watching her she knew he didn't quite believe that was the sole reason why she had trusted him with the story she told so precious few – even if it wasn't the whole story. "I also know both Steve and Sgt. Barnes trust you, and as if that weren't enough for me, after seeing the way you stood up to Doreah on my behalf I know you won't go running out to tell the media what I've just said."

"I can see why you'd want to keep those kinds of details to yourself. He really put you through the ringer, huh?"

"That's one way of putting it," Charlie smiled in agreement. Personally she would have used a different word to describe her experience. Hell. That was usually the first word that popped into her mind. Not that it mattered anymore, that life was far behind her. She wasn't the girl on the farm anymore, nor was she that kid in the baggy sweater living on the streets of New Orleans. She wasn't Pip, or Twitch anymore; now she was Agent Rhys, and the others were just ghosts that she knew.

They both sat in silent contemplation for a minute as the café continued to rush and bustle around them. Finally Charlie spoke, taking small, hesitant breaths as she dug something out of her bag. "Why did you want to know about my experience with PTSD?" Setting the plain, black moleskin on the table she took out a pencil and opened it up to a page. Slowly, with light strokes, she dragged the tip of her pencil across the page, emphasizing the lines already on the page.

"Barnes is my friend, and I'm just looking out for him," explained Sam, sitting a little straighter in his seat. "I know what PTSD can do to a person, I still run a support group through VA for people trying to deal with it. It's been a few years now, but a lot of it is still fresh for him."

Without taking her eyes off her work, Charlie nodded. "And you wanted to know if my experiences would help Sgt. Barnes with his recovery, or make him worse. Makes sense – after all that's why people in AA are discouraged from forming relationships for at least a year after starting the program, all they end up doing is replacing one addiction with another. You're worried he'd be swapping one trauma, one pain, for another."

Exhaling softly, Sam shook his head. "You're good," he whispered to himself. He honestly didn't know what he expected, talking to someone who lived inside other people's heads for a living. "It wasn't personal," Sam assured her, reaching across the table, placing a hand on her arm.

"I know," she nodded before stopping her sketching, and started twirling the pencil between her fingers. "So, based on the evidence, am I a threat to Sgt. Barnes's mental well being?"

"No," replied Sam immediately without a second thought. "Just the opposite actually." He could tell from the way she stopped twirling her pencil, and cocked her head to the side that his answer had taken the agent by surprise.

"Really?" her cheeks flushed slightly as she tried and failed to hide her smile from Sam's knowing gaze.

"Yeah," Sam offered her a broad smile in return. "I can't speak for Cap or anything, but I know he sees the way Bucky is whenever he's around you, how happy he is, and that's enough for him. We just want what's best for the guy."

"Well, Sgt. Barnes is very lucky to have friends like you."

Sam showed just how good of a friend he was, by spending the rest of their time regaling her with stories of Bucky. Most of them had been ones Steve told him from the good ole days, but there were a few personal ones thrown in there too. He was still somewhat socially awkward in group settings having spent so much time in isolation, but give the guy an iPad and he was set four hours. One story he knew Charlie would like, given her past, was how Bucky and Steve had been walking home after watching the game at Stark's, and they came across a few goons taking the Mickey out of a homeless guy. Bucky scared them off with a combination of his murder stare and metal arm, he then proceeded to help the guy back onto his feet and took him out for a hot meal.

"Sgt. Barnes really is some kind of super hero, isn't he?

Chuckling, Sam couldn't help but notice it was the fifth or sixth time Charlie had referred to Bucky by rank. "You don't have to keep doing this Charlie."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"I know you don't know me or Steve as well as Reid and Garcia, but you guys don't have to hide around us. It's cool. We won't tell anyone. I mean I get it – your job is pretty rigid when it comes to the rules, but like I said, we see how you two are around each other, and we want to support that – especially for Barnes's sake."

"Okay," she looked as though he'd sprouted another head. "Thank-you?"

"I'm just saying, if you want to have a cup of coffee with the guy, one on one, then you don't have to hide it by calling it a meeting, and call him Sgt. Barnes all the time. We all know how fond you are of _Superman_."

"Sam, who do you think I'm meeting here?"

Sam stopped his teasing and sat a little straighter. That was random. Unless. "Who are you meeting here?"

Immediately her eyes darted upwards the second she caught sight of a navy suit moving in behind Sam. "Agent Coulson," Charlie greeted looking up at the strange face smiling down at her, "you're early." Rising up out of her seat she stepped forward, hand extended to shake with Coulson. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Phil smiled politely as he released the younger agent's hand before acknowledging Sam's presence. "Agent Wilson," he greeted in a strained, albeit polite, manner. Noticing the proximity, and the friendly way in which Sam and Charlie sat with one another he added, "I was unaware you and Agent Rhys were acquainted."

"It's a recent development," explained Charlie. "Sam was kind enough to offer to sit and keep me company while I await our meeting."

"A most generous offer," Phil nodded in Sam's direction, thanking him for the courtesy. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting Agent Rhys."

"Not at all," dismissed Charlie with a wave of her hand. "I came early. You have to if you want a half way decent table here on a Saturday."

"How very pragmatic of you," observed Phil with a wry smile. His grip on the back of Sam's chair tightened as he directed his attention back on to the Avenger. "Agent Wilson, if it's not too much of an inconvenience, would you mind keeping Agent Rhys company a touch while longer while I wait in line for a cup of coffee."

"It would be my pleasure, Sir," Sam smiled in her direction.

"Wonderful." Returning his attention to Charlie he noticed the small mountain of cardboard confetti on the table between them. "Agent Rhys, may I get you a refill on your drink before we get to business?"

"A vanilla latte would be lovely, thank you Agent Coulson," Charlie smiled politely. Patiently she waited as Phil made the Sam offer to Sam, who declined, and walked towards the line at the other end of the café. Stepping closer to Sam, bridging the gap between them, she whispered into his ear, "you thought I was here to meet James . . . Sgt. Barnes?" she corrected through gritted teeth.

"Well, after seeing you two on Tuesday, and the fact that you were dressed up, and nervously fidgeting, I just assumed . . ." Sam trailed off but stopped at the look Charlie gave him.

"Sam," her face softened as her tone did the same, "professionally speaking I can't see him socially – not unsupervised – until I get his file put to bed."

"Then what?" inquired Sam with a saucy smirk, "you gonna get him in bed?"

"Would you keep your voice down," she hissed, looking over to see how Coulson was progressing in the line at the till. _Thank God Saturdays are so busy._ "I don't need Agent Coulson thinking there is something going on between me and Sgt. Barnes, and start asking around for second opinions to undermine my work."

Clapping a hand on her shoulder, Sam assured Charlie he got where she was coming from. After seeing the way they had been on Tuesday following Zumba, he got why she was fidgeting earlier. "I meant what I said earlier," he smiled as he whispered back to her. "I got your back on this, Rhys."

* * *

The acrid scent of burned discharge powder filled his lungs as he took a deep breath, while the muffled the sounds of ear shattering bang of constant gunfire continued to ring out in the next room. Leaning his head back against the wall as he sat on the bench outside the shooting stalls, he closed his eyes for a brief second as he felt cool concrete press up against his neck. He swore he could feel the vibrations of gunfire resonate through the walls and into his body. It was a calming feeling. God, he loved the shooting range.

His eyes shot open the second he heard the door on his left open at ten past noon, and Bucky sprang to his feet to greet Spencer. Flustered, the younger agent babbled out an apology for his tardiness – there had been some kind of delay with the subway. He'd been kind of surprised when Dr. Reid asked him to join him at the range. After Charlie revealed that she'd actually gotten the fitness tests struck from both Garcia and Reid's records, she confessed there was one test he would not be exonerated from – his firearm-licensing renewal test.

"Relax," Bucky turned his head, grinning in Reid's direction, "I wasn't waiting long." Felt as though he'd only just sat down when Reid came bursting through the front door. Truth be told he wouldn't have minded if the kid had been another ten minutes late, just so he could savour the smell and sounds of the range before going into one of the stalls. Holding the door open for the genius he pointed him towards stall seven, where'd they'd set up for Spencer to show him what he could do, he'd break down his problem areas from there.

"Thank you again, for agreeing to help with this," Spence prattled on as thy walked along the back wall. "I usually come here with JJ or Charlie, but Henry is sick, and Charlie's stuck in a meeting."

"It's my pleasure," Bucky flashed the genius a pearly white smile. "I like it here."

"You come here often?" inquired Reid, attempting to make chit chat with the former assassin.

"Not this one in particular," shrugged Bucky, dropping his bag to the ground once they reached their stall. He could already feel his body going on to autopilot as he stepped into the stall.

"You go with Captain Rogers?"

"No," Bucky replied over his shoulder. "Steve doesn't like guns." _Not since the war,_ he added mentally. His friend had never been particularly fond of them in the first place, but after the war his distaste for them had only grown. He couldn't help but think he, and what happened to him, had something to do with that.

"You and Steve have been friends for a long time," Spencer observed casually pulling out a pair of safety glasses from his satchel.

Stopping where he stood, Bucky gave the agent a curious glance. _Where is this going?_ he wondered before answering, "since childhood."

"That must be nice," Reid bobbed his head awkwardly, reminding Bucky of those ridiculous bobble head figures everyone seemed to have become obsessed with in the last couple decades. "To have a friendship last that long that is," he clarified, not sure if his meaning had been clear.

"What?" mumbled Bucky under his breath, rolling his eyes. When he accepted the offer to come to the range with the guy he wasn't counting on rehashing his glory days with Steve to the guy. "Didn't you have any friends growing up?"

"I was a child prodigy with an IQ of 187, and the only son of a schizophrenic literature professor in a Las Vegas." Noting the mild hints of surprise on Bucky's face he forced a smile. "The only friends I had as a kid were the characters in the stories and poems my mom read to me. Charlie's my oldest friend." He paused monetarily, genuinely smiling at a fond memory. "Did she ever tell you how we met?"

"Just that it was in the academy," Bucky shrugged. He never told her how he met Steve. It would probably come out eventually.

"We were in the same class," Reid nodded. "Like everyone else, I knew who she was the moment the instructor called her name during roll call on our first day." Everyone knew who Charlie Rhys was. Wasn't just that her father was the infamous Springsteen Strangler, but she was also the adopted protégé of David Rossi, and rumour had it she studied art under the famous Frank Bender. By FBI standards, she was on the same social level as an illegitimate Kennedy.

"She kept mostly to herself though," Reid recalled, and just like everyone else, he kept his distance. From the moment he applied to the academy, and they realized there was no written or psychological test he could not ace, Spencer Reid had been groomed to join the BAU, but at that point Charlie Rhys was the closest he'd ever actually come to a serial killer.

"We were running Dead man's alley. It had been raining that day, and like always, Charlie was one of the first ones back." It was funny to think about. Her dad kept her so busy after school with activities like baseball, gymnastics, and soccer he'd inadvertently groomed her to be in peak physical condition to join the FBI, and stop people like him. "Anyways," he forced himself to continue before getting too caught up in the statistical likelihood of Charlie's situation, "I had tripped over something, and twisted my ankle."

He remembered being soaked to the bone after getting caught in the downpour, wondering how the hell he was going to make it back when he could hardly walk, and there were no cell phones permitted on the course. Sitting there in the mud and muck, trying to get himself back onto his feet without slipping, he heard a female voice call out, _you need some help there little brother?_ Looking up he saw her, hair plastered to her face, rain racing off her cheeks, and hand out reached for him. She pulled him up to his feet, and when she realized he couldn't walk she threw an arm over her shoulder and they hobbled down the course together, getting to know one another in the process. Eventually they made it back, and after that day they spent the rest of their time in the academy joined at the hip.

"She was the only one who noticed I didn't return," explained Reid softly, "and when she did, she ran the entire course a second time in the pouring rain to get me – someone she barely knew." It might not have seemed like much, but for Reid it was the first time anyone had ever come back for him since his father walked out when he was ten. And that meant the world to him.

For a brief second the entire range was filled with an eerie silence, as though everything had stopped, for just a second, to listen to Spencer's story. Bucky's eager hands had stilled as he listened, heart heavy beneath his breast as he thought of Steve. Sweet, scrawny Steve, who enlisted in the war despite the odds, and defied orders just to rescue him.

Spencer paused, noting the curious look on the other man's face. He was lost, either in his thoughts, or his emotions, but either way he wasn't entirely present. "Do you know why she and I are always partnered together in the field?" he finally asked, after giving the former soldier a moment to recover. When Bucky failed to reply he answered his own question. "It's because Charlie and I are direct foils of each other."

It was true. They were almost polar opposites of one another. He grew up in a bustling metropolitan city while she grew up in a town with a population under two thousand; he listened to classical music and preferred the stylings of Beethoven and Mozart to Chopin and Stravinsky, while she grew up worshipping Springsteen and Mellencamp if she wasn't listening to Brooks & Dunn. Part of what made Charlie such a great undercover agent was her ability to think on her feet and improvise, he could never do that, he needed things to be well planned and organized; he was books and numbers, she was people. He was word smart, a standard book learner, while Charlie was better with people, she needed to hear things to understand them – it's why she was the popular choice to take over the psych evals after Gideon left. She could tell when something was wrong just by a person's intonation when they said hello – it also meant that it was next to impossible to lie to her.

He was the brain, and she was the heart. Together they made a perfect team, something both Hotch and Gideon picked up on just weeks after Charlie joined the team.

"But no matter what, I know she's got my back, and I've got hers."

Bucky stopped tinkering with his pistol, anything to keep his hands busy as he listened to the Doctor's tale, and set it down on the counter in front of hum. "Dr. Reid," he turned to face the smaller man. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

Reid's eyes drifted down towards the gun still in Sgt. Barnes's hand before darting back up to look him in the eye. Now was not the time for backing down. "Yes," he nodded with a new-found confidence. "Charlie's my best friend, and for a time she was my only friend. If you even think about hurting her, in anyway – you will regret it."

"Are you threatening me?" He looked the kid over, mouth closed but brows raised. He was the size of a pipe cleaner, then again Steve used to be even smaller – at least Spencer was tall – but something like height never stopped Steve from challenging guys twice his size to fights in the back alley.

"No," Reid replied light chuckle and open grin. "I'm just reminding you of a few simple facts. Charlie's like my sister, and we happen to be part of the same family, a family that also includes Morgan, Rossi, Hotch, JJ, Garcia, and Emily. And in this family we protect our own - remember that."

"You really care about her, huh?" Bucky observed after a moment of tense silence passed, with a wry smile. He had to really care about the girl, if he was willing to try to intimidate him with his scrawny frame. He was taller, but he reminded Bucky of Steve. Pre-serum.

"I love her," replied Reid with a coltish smile before starign at the ground. "I mean I'm not in love with her," his head darted up as he started trying to explain. "She's my sister – minus the shared genetic material," he explained quickly when he saw the quirk of Bucky's brow. "I just want what's best for her."

He knew everyone at the office was expecting him and Charlie to get together the same way Morgan and Garcia had. After all they teased one another, and spent most of their free time together. They'd often spend their afternoons out in the park, he'd usually be there playing a few rounds of chess while she sat there sketching enjoying a cup of coffee. She was also his go to whenever he wanted to go to the foreign cinema. Sometimes they'd call Morgan and Garcia to tag along as well, but most of the time it was just the two of them. But he could never see her in that light, he wanted to, and there were times he tried talking himself into liking Charlie as something more than just a friend, but at the end of the day she really was just the sister he never knew he wanted.

In an attempt to move past their current awkwardness, Spencer loaded the metal clip with the target practice paper and sent the contraption racing to the back of the range. "Just for the record – I think you're good for her," he confessed while unholstering his weapon, and stepping towards the counter.

Looking up from his boots Bucky offered the agent a confused look. It was hard to keep up with this kid; he was all over the place. One moment he's attempting to intimidate him, and the next he was complimenting him. He could not get a read off this guy, and he didn't like that. He stayed silent, watching as Reid fired a couple of shots in the target's direction. Without even taking a look to see where the kid hit the paper he knew, this was going to take some time.

Lowering his gun, and removing his protective glasses, Reid motioned for Bucky to press the button to summon the target so they could see where he hit. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Bucky staring at him, still waiting for some kind of explanation for her previous observation. "You make her smile," he shrugged before looking over at the paper target. "How bad is it?" he wondered.

"Let's just say, we've got a lot of work to do," Bucky chuckled softly before showing Reid the target. "I take it you don't fire your weapon often, do you Doc?"

"I usually leave that kind of stuff to JJ, Hotch or Morgan," Reid confessed with a lopsided grin.

"Good plan. But for the sake of argument lets try again." After hanging up a fresh target Bucky nudged Spence out of the way and picked up his weapon to show him how it was done. _One . . . two . . . three,_ he exhaled slowly, focusing on his breath as he steadied his heart, achieving total calm before pulling the trigger in rapid succession, firing six shots – all into the heart. He didn't even need to recall the target to know where he'd struck him. It was all second nature him. Well first nature really, he'd been a weapon first, and a man second for so long it took some time to adjust and try to reverse settings.

"Did you know some studies have found shooting ranges to actually be exceptionally therapeutic for some people with PTSD," quipped Reid, interrupting Bucky's internal monologue. "Seems counter intuitive given that the sound of gunfire can be triggering for many veterans, but they find it's the breath control. It relaxes the central nervous system that then over powers the distressing effects of the trauma. That's why you like the shooting range so much – not the actual shooting," he added.

Looking over his shoulder, Bucky stared at the kid. "You don't say?" he wondered with a boyish smile. "Good to know." He motioned for Spencer to come over by him, and get into position. Then standing behind him he adjusted his stance, and how he locked his arms. "Now keep both eyes open, and focus where you want the bullets to go."

* * *

After about an hour or so of practice Reid's aim improved, slightly. Bucky, as it turned out, was an excellent instructor. He never lost his patience or raised his voice at the struggling agent. Instead he offered useful pointers and tips where he could, and congratulated Reid on his improvements. Once the smell started to become too much for Reid to handle, they stopped. As a thank-you, Spencer offered to buy Bucky a cup of coffee, so they climbed into Bucky's car, and drove back into the city.

Opening the door to the café Spencer suggested, the first face to greet them belonged to none other than Sam. He was sitting at a table by the door pretending to read the paper while listening to a conversation nearby. There was an empty cup of coffee, and a plate with a large piece of tomato and some crumbs on it. His eyes grew wide as he watched the unlikely duo come walking towards him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Bucky wondered, "Steve with you?" Immediately he craned his neck, trying to see if he could spot Steve somewhere.

"No man, Cap is having lunch with Romanoff. I had some business to do in this part of town, thought I'd grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich."

But Bucky had already stopped listening, he'd already found someone more interesting than Sam, or Steve. Charlie. She was sitting just a few tables over, and she was talking to someone. He couldn't quite make out who she was talking to, a couple of business men a few tables over stood to shake hands before saying their farewells, were currently obstructing his view. Her eyes were intense, focused, and she sat straight, poised with her legs crossed at the ankle, and hands folded in her lap. This wasn't a friendly coffee.

That still didn't stop the smile from spreading on his face when he caught Charlie look over their way and the way her eyes seemed to spark when she caught sight of him. The moment was cut short when her associate said something. Instantly her attention snapped back to him, though she pointed over in their direction, and began to rise from her table, sending a jolt through his system.

That happy feeling didn't last long however. Once the business men finally said their piece to one another and left he saw the person Charlie had been conversing with had been none other than Agent Coulson. They had been having coffee together, and they were now heading his way.

"Sgt. Barnes," Charlie greeted him with a neutral expression, but he couldn't miss the added note of warmth in her voice as she extended her hand, "it's a pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure is all mine, Agent Rhys," he smiled broadly at her, taking her hand in his giving it a gentle shake. It felt odd to be addressing her by title, and to hear her address him by rank, but so long as Coulson was around he knew they had to play strange; though that didn't stop his touch from lingering just a second longer than a typical hand shake would allow.

"Sgt. Barnes," Coulson greeted the group with a cordial smile and nod, forcing Bucky to retract his hand from Charlie's for good. "You're ears must be burning. Agent Rhys and I were just talking about you."

"Were you?" he tried to keep his pulse steady, forcing an obliging smile to both Coulson and Charlie. "Anything in particular – or just in general?"

"Standard procedure," Charlie nodded politely, smothering a small smile. "Agent Coulson merely wanted to review the findings in my report, and needed clarification on some of my recommendations."

"Recommendations?" Bucky's voice faltered, and the smile fell from his face. _Oh no,_ he swallowed hard several times trying to force another smile in the agents' direction. Had he failed the evaluation? He must have. He'd been so distracted by his attraction to Charlie, over the last week, that he forgot to consider that she might fail him.

"My job is to assess whether or not you're fit to return to service, and to make several recommendations to ensure your transition occurs with as much ease as possible. How to handle rejection should your application be denied, and what precautions to take if you are accepted to decrease chances of your PTSD from being triggered in the field for the first few months." Charlie paused, scanning his face for any sign of comprehension. "Sgt. Barnes, we went through this together at the time of your evaluation. Was I not clear?"

"No, you were perfect . . . I mean . . . perfectly clear," he stumbled awkwardly over the words in his flustered state." Everyone stared at him. Even the socially awkward Dr. Reid was giving him a skeptical look with his arched brows and wide eyes as his pursed lips attempted to smile reassuringly to him.

"Well I think we're about done here," Charlie cut in trying to steer the conversation back on track. "Did you get everything you needed, Agent Coulson?"

"Yes, I believe so," Phil smiled warmly at the young woman. He took a couple steps towards the door before turning back around. "Oh, actually I did have one more question for you," he snapped his fingers. "Who's your favourite character?"

"Pardon?" It was Charlie's turn to be confused.

"Harry Potter," Phil clarified. "I couldn't help but notice you have the Deathly Hallows symbol on the back of your neck, just below your hairline. I'm a big fan myself."

Lifting up her piles of long brown hair, Charlie showed Sam and Bucky the tattoo in question, knowing they'd both be wondering after Phil's comment. It hadn't started out as a Harry Potter tribute. It started as a simple triangle she'd gotten it done when she graduated from the academy, and proceeded to add to it over the years. The Deathly Hallows symbol just happened to be the end result.

"What is that?" wondered Sam, lips moving over the words painted on her skin.

"The triangle is the Latin for Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity – it's the FBI's creed," translated Reid. "The straight line in the centre is Protego – which is Latin for I cover, or I protect. It's a shield charm used in Harry Potter. The circle is Expecto Patronum, a powerful defensive charm used to summon a spirit guardian. It's roots is also in Latin, and translates to I await a protector." Pausing he looked around at the faces of the people surrounding them. "Yes, I'm a geek," he admitted softly under his breath.

"No sweetie," Charlie ruffled his hair. "I'm a geek. You're a nerd." Sharing a wide grin with Reid she returned her attention to Phil, "and to answer your question, I'd have to say Professor Lupin."

"Really?"

"Not only is Lupin intelligent, hard working, charming, no stranger to mischief, and incredibly loyal to his friends I also happen love the symbolism Rowling uses with his character. She uses his lycanthropy as a metaphor for societies treatment of people living with HIV and AIDS during the 80s and 90s. But what I like most about Lupin is that he doesn't allow his condition to change him. He remains a good person throughout, constantly trying to keep people from harm despite his condition, proving that it's not what you are but what you do that defines character."

"Interesting. I would have thought for sure you'd choose Tonks."

"And why is that?" questioned Charlie. The smile on her face was un-readable.

"Simply because we tend to be drawn to characters we can see ourselves in and the two of you share several obvious similarities. Both of you are involved in law enforcement, and then of course there are the similarities between her ability to change her appearance at will as a result of her metamorphic abilities your past experience as an undercover operative." He paused for a second before adding, "you look lovely with blonde hair by the way."

"Thank-you Agent Coulson," she offered him a polite smile but there was no warmth behind it. "You make a most compelling argument, however I believe your question was who is my favourite character, not which character do I think I most resemble."

"True," Phil nodded and smiled. "As I said, most of us tend to be drawn to the characters we see ourselves in."

"Is that why your favourite characters are Mr. & Mrs. Weasley?" she wondered as the others watched on. Neither Sam nor Bucky knew what the hell was going on – Bucky didn't even know what the hell a Harry Potter was – but Spencer merely watched on in amusement, poised and ready to help his colleague should she need him.

"Agent Rhys, did you just profile me to determine my favourite Harry Potter character?"

"You sound surprised."

"Impressed," he corrected, adjusting his tie. "I would love to know how you figured it out – most people peg me for a McGonagall fan, but unfortunately I have other matters that need tending to"

"Would you like me to email you with my analysis?"offered Charlie.

"Not necessary," declined Coulson with a polite smile, and dismissive wave of his hand. "We'll be in touch Agent Rhys."

"Allow us to walk you out," she insisted with a polite nod.

Together the group exited the café. Coulson peeled off from the group, heading to where he parked his corvette. Charlie waited until he had driven out of sight before turning to face James and Spence.

"Coffee?" Reid looked back at Charlie, reading the exhaustion on her face.

"Please," she smiled wearily at him. Now that her meeting with Coulson was over, she felt as though she could breathe again. Unfortunately she had also been wound up so tight it meant that her nervous system would be crashing hard, and soon, unless she got some more caffeine in her system.

"Your usual, or did you want a dead eye?"

"Latte is good," nodded Charlie. "I've already had three – I have a dead eye, and I'll be vibrating when we get on the plane tomorrow."

"I was thinking about that," Reid perked up at the mention of work. "Do you think we should take a walk through the crime scenes before go to interview this guy?"

"Spence the case was fifteen years ago – those crime scenes are not going to be in tact."

"No, I know that," argued Reid with a grin. "But I had Garcia do some looking into the locations where the bodies were discovered. Everything is still standing, businesses still running."

"So you want to do a walk through of each murder to get into this guy's head before we meet with him," Charlie finished the thought, biting the peeled back skin of her thumb's cuticle.

"Exactly."

"Alright. I'll text Penelope, and get her to change our flights, and reservations. When do you want to head out?"

"Tonight – if possible."

"Yeah, you're right," Charlie nodded pulling out her phone from its holster case. "Gives us the whole day tomorrow. We should also see if Garcia can track down the original lead investigator on the case – pick his brain a bit while we're there too."

"Good thinking," Reid nodded. "My treat," he insisted when he caught Charlie trying to reach for her wallet. "I owe Sgt. Barnes anyways as a thank you for today." He bowed his head in Bucky's direction with a smile on his face. "Agent Wilson?" he asked politely, offering the agent a coffee as well. He was already paying for everyone else.

Figuring he'd give the two lovebirds a moment alone Sam took a step closer to Reid, "I think I'll just go with you."

Stopping either Agent from taking another step Charlie called Reid's name. "Before I forget did you keep your receipt from the range?"

Spence shook his head as he started fumbling for his wallet. "It was already paid by the time I arrived."

Turning to face James, on her left, Charlie repeated her question. "It's so we can reimburse you. Technically because it is training we can claim it as a work expense."

"I think it's in my car," he admitted, rocking back onto his heels.

"We'll meet you guys in a couple minutes," Charlie nodded in Reid and Sam's before following James to where he parked his Nissan.

* * *

Once they reached the car, Bucky opened the hatchback, and Charlie sat on the feathered felt. Quietly she watched as he pulled an the same old duffel bag he'd used at the range towards him, and started rummaging around for the receipt. Resting her hands on her knees she smiled as she saw the look of intense concentration on his face. "How bad was it?" she wondered softly.

"I could ask you the same," he replied, pushing his snub nose revolver out of the way. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the look of concern on her face. "It wasn't so bad," he admitted. "They let us keep his best one," he handed her the folded piece of paper. There were only three holes in the red zone – he technically needed six to pass his test. The others were scattered all over the place.

"You know, I think this is better than his last test," she stared at the paper a little longer before looking back up at James. "Thanks for taking him – it meant a lot to Spencer, he practically worships you and Steve. You agreeing to take him shooting probably just made his year."

"Got it." He fished the crumpled up paper from the duffle bag, and handed it over to Charlie. "Don't worry about it. It was actually a lot of fun," he confessed, taking a seat next to her in his open hatchback. "Spencer is an interesting guy, you weren't kidding when you said he was a genius, plus I got to hear a lot of nice stories about you," he grinned, nudging her slightly with his shoulder where they sat.

"That's funny, Sam was telling me stories about you earlier, when I was waiting for Phil to arrive."

"Oh God," Bucky groaned hanging his head. "What did he tell you? Was it the time I ripped the steering wheel out of his car through his windshield? He loves telling that one."

"No," Charlie's eyes grew in disbelief, "all I heard were the tales about what a great guy you are, but I think I would have rather heard that one."

Sensing that was one story he wasn't so fond of telling she stopped her grinning and instead changed the subject. "So," she started hesitantly staring at the ground before looking back at him, "apparently you thought I was perfect, huh?" she teased with a Cheshire grin.

"I meant perfectly clear," repeated Bucky leaning back, using his arms for support. Seeing the doubtful, albeit amused look staring back at him he cracked into a giant grin. "I really fucked up with that one didn't I? Do you think he suspects something? I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Relax Superman," she took a deep breath and smiled. "You're allowed to have a crush on me. I'm the one who has to keep my feelings in check until this is over."

"But there are feelings there – right?" he couldn't keep the vulnerability from his voice as he stared out at the grey skies a head of them.

Looking behind her Charlie mirrored his movements, and rested on of her hands on top of his lacing their fingers together. "You tell me," she whispered, looking back at him. A second later she added, "still not the sign," with a coy smile.

"Yeah – I had a feeling." His shoulders sagged forward slightly under her touch, and inched closer by her side. "I can't wait for all this to be over. Cause I'm really looking forward to taking you out on that date."

"Soon," she promised leaning over so she rested against him. It would all be over soon - hopefully. Toying with a stray strand of hair Charlie, sat forward, and bit down on her lower lip. "So what exactly does a date with James Buchanan Barnes look like?"

Chuckling, Bucky grinned back at her. "Well, when I first asked you I thought I'd start small, and just take you for coffee, or if I was feeling really brave, maybe dinner. But, after seeing the way you moved on Tuesday, now I'm thinking I'd like to take you out dancing. Not that weird stuff that goes on at the night clubs," he shuddered, recalling the one ad only time Natasha, and some of the others, took him and Steve to a modern club. "But the kind of dancing we did back in my day."

"I look forward to it."

The warmth and sincerity behind Charlie's smile sent little jolts of excitement rippling through his body. He looked forward to it too, holding her close as they sway in time to the music. They just had to get to that night, that was the trick. His mood quickly sunk when he caught sight of Sam and Reid carrying their coffees towards them. Charlie noticed them too; at least if the sudden way she pulled her hand away from his was any indication.

A few seconds later Reid was passing her extra sweet vanilla latte to Charlie, and Sam was handing Bucky a drip coffee, black.

"Any word yet from Garcia?" inquired Reid before taking a sip from his paper, to go cup.

"Yep, we're checked in for the red eye tonight, and our motel reservation has been updated."

"We should probably get going then." They needed to sit down and review their individual notes for the file, then compile a joint set and create a profile from there, then cross reference that to Katz's case file. Not to mention the fact that Reid still needed to pack for the trip. Now that Charlie wasn't there to nag him he kept leaving those little tasks to last minute. He'd meant to pack his bag last night, but he got caught up re-listening to some old Stephen Hawking lectures he had on record.

"Good idea," Charlie agreed hopping out from the hatchback. "I need to swing by my place, and grab my go bag – plus I'm gonna need a big ol' bag of peanut butter M&Ms, and a new book, if I want to survive a five hour flight in coach."

"Did you want to go to the Lantern, or Carpe Librum?" wondered Reid, digging into his bag for his book list. Even with his total recall based memory, there was something immensely satisfying about being able to scratch a name off a list. Right now he was at number 254 of the 1000 books on the list of books he wanted to read before he turned thirty-five list.

"That depends."

"On?"

"Whichever one has the book you're after," she chuckled as she fished her car keys out of her bag. "Come on little brother, I'll drive." Facing the other gave Sam a quick one-armed hug good bye. "Thanks again for earlier," she smiled at him, though her eyes wandered over to James.

"Anytime Duracell. Remember what we talked about."

With a promise that she would, she offered James a small wave good bye. "Sgt. Barnes." Her head bowed slightly but it still didn't conceal the smile on her face, causing Reid's words from the range to run through Bucky's mind, _you make her smile._

"Agent Rhys," he returned the nod sporting a matching grin of his own. He looked to Reid and nodded. "Let me know if you ever want some company out on the range, Dr. Reid."

"Def-definitely," Reid stammered before saying his goodbyes to Sam.

The instant he and Charlie turned their backs they were right back to business, and started talking details of the file they were working on. Offering Sam a ride home, Bucky climbed into the driver's seat of his car.

"Thanks for not telling Charlie how we met," he looked over at his friend. He knew the only reason why Sam took a chance on him was on account of Steve. After the first impression he made, with the whole trying to kill them thing, he didn't blame Sam for not trusting him. He wouldn't have either.

"Don't go thanking me just yet. Let's wait until you two actually start dating. Then I can start looking to embarrass you." Catching the look of humoured ire on Bucky's face he burst out laughing. "Come on man, that's what friends are for."


	7. The Sign

In the cold, grey hours of Thursday morning Charlie trudged through the front door of her apartment, dropping her bag to the ground before turning the deadbolt. Tristan Katz was officially dead. And while it had taken a bit longer than they would have liked, together she and Spence got everything they needed from Katz for the database. Exhausted, she kicked off her boots before shrugging out of her black leather jacket. Covering a yawn with the back of her hand she removed, and hung up, her holster before dragging her weary body down the hall towards the bedroom.

She didn't catch a wink of sleep on the plane. Reid slept like a baby next to her, even going so far as to drool on her shoulder, but every time she closed her eyes to try to sleep all she saw was him. Katz, as his body swung at the end of a rope, kicking and struggling for air. Twenty-three minutes. It took twenty-three, long, excruciating minutes for him to die. The very thought made her stomach churn, and she felt as though she'd be sick just thinking about it. Why did it have to be hanging?

As they waited in the seating area of the death chamber Reid kept whispering facts in her ears, as though that would make any of it easier. For thirty-nine minutes her ears buzzed with whispers such as _did you know that Washington State is the only state to still allow hangings by choice? All other states use hanging as a secondary method if lethal injection is not possible._ There were others, famous people who had been hanged throughout history, and how on average full death was expected to occur within twenty minutes. She didn't feel pity for him; Tristan Katz was a truly deplorable human being who deserved his fate, but the thought of death being anything other than quick made her skin crawl. She'd take a bullet to the heart any day.

Instead, she turned her iPod on to her jazz playlist, and stared out the window into the night sky until she was brought back to happier days, life in New Orleans, and sitting around in Jason's kitchen as they talked art, music, and books. Occasionally her mind drifted to James. Thoughts of him dressed for a night out on the town, his blue eyes brimming with youthful exuberance, instead of how they'd been marred by the pain of experience, floated in the back of her mind. How different a boy he must have been from the man he became – the one he was forced to become. The thought of him with that same boyish grin and certain joie de vivre brought her some small comfort, lifting some of the weight she felt in her heart.

Throwing herself on the plush double size bed, face down, Charlie grinned as she buried her face in the crimson and burnt orange coloured sheets, breathing in their fresh scent. Nothing better than coming home to freshly laundered sheets. Lifting her weary head she saw the clock on her nightstand read 6:38 – sometimes she really hated taking the red eye. Sitting next to the clock she saw the little red light of doom blinking away furiously at her.

"God. What the hell do you want now?" she groaned, pawing at the device until her hand made contact with the button of her answering machine.

The same little automated voice that she still didn't know how to reprogram replied, "you have five new messages _._ "

 _Five?_ Thought Charlie, leaning up against the pillows, mildly surprised. _Looks like someone was popular while she was away._ Still too tired to sit up properly, she clicked the play button while simultaneously burying her face into the burnt orange coloured pillowcase that matched her sheets – she missed her bed.

 _Hello Miss Rhys, this is David O'Rourke from the Memphis Daily News . . ._

"Delete," she cut the message off mid-sentence. The media mania surrounding her father had died sown somewhat, but there were still the odd die hard who still deluded themselves into believing they could score an interview with her. "Next."

 _Good afternoon Miss Rhys, it's Eleanor from Crest Dry Cleaners. We just wanted to tell you that your order is ready for pick up. We're open Monday to Saturday between the hours of . . ._

"Got it." Delete.

 _Good evening Miss Rhys, this is Charlotte Day from . . ._

"God, haven't they fired you by now?" Delete.

 _Hey Monet, you got your phone off. What gives? Anyways listen, Angela's back from maternity leave, and she's feeling a little overwhelmed with work. What do you say you come over, work some of your magic, and create a few faces for us huh? Haven't seen you in forever – could be fun working together again. Let me know. It's Booth._

"Not now Seeley, Monet needs some shut eye," she grumbled before hitting skip.

 _Charlie! I tried you on your cell but your phone is off. Anyways, I'm calling because I'm going to be in town for a couple days, and was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee or take in a museum, or something. It'll have to be quick – I leave Thursday evening for Utah. Anyways give me a call back; I'd like to see you before I go. Same number, and please – don't tell anyone. Miss you kiddo._

"Gideon," she whispered rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. She hadn't seen Jason in almost three years, when they met up in Modesto following an arson case. Looking over at the clock it was now 6:44 am. If she knew Jason, he'd be awake now, on his second cup of coffee, finishing yesterday's crossword while he waited for this morning's paper, or playing chess on his phone. She'd give him a call, and look at arranging a quick good-bye coffee – after she listened to her last message.

 _This message is for Agent Rhys. This is Director Nick Fury over at S.H.I.E.L.D. Now I understand you're currently out on assignment, but we'd like you to come by our offices as soon as you get back – there is something we'd like to discuss with you in person. Give Agent Coulson a call when you get this._

"There goes my eight hours." Rolling to her right, she reached over for the white cordless phone she kept on the stand next to her reading lamp, and dialled Jason's number.

* * *

Setting down his coffee, Gideon paused t look out the open window next to him before picking his paper back up. Three more. He only needed three more clues until his crossword was complete. _A cheeky arch,_ he mulled the clue over in his mind, nearly missing the appearance of a someone coming to his left in his peripheral.

"Please tell me that is only your third cup."

Looking up at the source of the voice, Gideon saw a familiar pair of green eyes smiling down at him. They were a little duller in colour – they didn't pop the way they usually did – and her smile was worn, but he would recognize that face any day.

"Charlie," he returned the grin, sliding his reading glasses on top of his head before standing to greet her properly.

"Uncle Gideon," she grinned, leaning into his embrace.

"It's good to see you kiddo," he smiled fondly at her, the way a proud uncle did when you showed him your participation badge – didn't matter how well you did, so long as you tried. "I was starting to worry I wouldn't get to see you this trip. I saw the news about the guy in Washington after I left you that message. You just get in?"

"Few hours ago – yeah," she bobbed her head before stifling a yawn. "What clue are you stuck on?" she wondered looking over the top of his paper. "You had that look on your face you get when you're stuck. I could see it clear across the room."

"Eighteen down, fourteen spaces, a cheeky arch," he grumbled. "Don't worry about it. I'll finish it on the plane tonight before I start today's puzzle."

"A cheeky arch," Charlie repeated the clue under her breath. "That has to be the zygomatic arch." Picking the paper up from where he'd dropped it on the table, and plucking the pen from his hands. "The Zygomatic arch is your cheekbones," she explained, filling in the spaces. "And what do you know," she smiled proudly. "It fits," turning the paper around for him to see she showed him the completed clue.

"That's right. I forgot, you took anatomy as part of your biomedical illustrations certification." He took the paper and pen from her, setting it back into his bag so their coffee could continue without distraction. As he did so, Charlie flagged down one of the café's numerous waiters and ordered a coffee for herself, as well as something to eat.

"Top of my class to boot," replied Charlie, turning her attention back to Gideon once she was finished with the waiter. Academically it had been one of her most trying classes – but also the most rewarding. She found the subject fascinating, and shortly afterwards she knew where she wanted her art to take her. It had been a real turning point in her academic career.

"You always were a bright kid," Jason smiled proudly. He could go on, but judging from the way Charlie averted her gaze he had the distinct feeling she wasn't in the mood for a stroll down memory lane.

They slipped into easy conversation as the waiter brought Charlie her to go cup of coffee, and the blueberry muffin she ordered for breakfast. Not surprising, it didn't take long for Jason to fill Charlie in on everything he'd done since the last time they saw each other in Modesto.

"So, you want to talk about it?" he wondered throwing a twenty dollar bill down on the table, waving off the ten that she held out in his direction, in attempt to pay for her order. Together they exited out the front of the café, and made their way to the park they always strolled through whenever he was around.

Strolling as they chatted always felt more comfortable to Charlie. Whenever she tried sitting and talking over a cup of coffee or something she felt like she was in the middle of a business meeting, or an interview. Instead, walking amongst the trees, taking in the colour of the changing leaves as glimpses of sunlight filtered through, inhaling the crisp autumn air with its subtle notes of aging leaves smoke from the fires trying to chase away autumns chill, it all felt so relaxing. Natural.

"What are you talking about?" she inquired, brows raised in a knowing look. She knew when Jason was fishing. While he had often forgot his manners on case, he had always been exceptionally sensitive towards her and her situation. He never broached the subject himself, only hinting at it until she broke down and brought it up.

"You never pass up on the chance to have a cheesecake brownie, especially in favour a blueberry muffin unless something is bothering you. And don't tell me about breakfast. I've seen you eat those things at seven in the morning. Something's on your mind."

"I forgot who I was walking with," Charlie suppressed a chuckle. "Good to know your retirement has dulled your profiling abilities." It wasn't until they were past the pond with the three-tiered fountain that she finally started to open up. "There's this thing that I need to do, and I guess I'm just trying to figure out when would be the best time to do it, because once I do – everything changes. Should I do it tonight, and get it over with, or do I hold off just a bit longer. We're flying out for another case tonight. Maybe I should wait until we get back, give myself a bit of time to think things over. But it's been weeks, shouldn't all the thinking be done by now? I don't know. I don't know what to do, and I don't like not knowing. And I mean statistically speaking these kinds of things have not go well for me in the past. They seem like they will, and then they don't, so what's to say this time is going to be any different?"

In all the time Gideon had known her, he had never seen Charlie so worked up, and flustered over anything; not even the day her father had been arrested. Whatever it was that was going on, it was clearly important to her, and was of a personal nature.

"I don't know what you're planning, and I'm sure I don't want to know. But if this thing is something that you want, then allow me to remind you of something H. Jackson Brown Jr. once said. _Never let the odds keep you form doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do."_ A warm hand clapped her shoulder. "I have never known you to be afraid of anything, there have been hard calls in the past, and you've made them – even when they were at great risk to yourself. I have no doubt that whatever you decide you'll make the right choice – you always have. If you feel that this is something you need to do, then don't wait; don't let anything keep you from doing it. _Nothing is more expensive than a missed opportunity._ "

Before Charlie could comment, and tease him that he'd been reading the _Life's Little Instruction Book_ again, Gideon's watch started beeping. Checking his wrist the smile slowly faded from his face as he pulled her in for a hug. "Sorry kiddo, but I have to get going if I want to make my plane."

"Alright," she nodded, lamenting the fact that their visit was so brief and that she'd wasted their time together griping about her problems. His hold on her lingered a little longer than usual, but eventually it ended and Gideon got up from the bench.

"You coming?"

"I think I'm going to sit here a bit longer," she declined. It was such a beautiful autumn day, she wanted to sit outside and enjoy it a little while longer. "Have a safe trip to Utah."

"I will," Gideon promised. "Take care of yourself Charlie. And good luck." With one final goodbye and nod of his head, he turned, and started the walk back to the park entrance.

Pulling out her cell phone from one jacket pocket, and a small card from her bag, Charlie punched the number into her phone. As she sat there, with the late September sun against her cheeks, her heart raced as she heard the phone begin to ring.

"Hey," she replied with a breathy smile when he finally picked up after the fourth ring. "It's me. Listen, what are you doing tonight?"

* * *

"Stop fidgeting. Why are you so nervous? You've done this before, you're going to be fine," Steve leaned over in his seat to remind Bucky. "Besides, there's no saying you actually have to do this if you don't think you can."

"No. I know," Bucky nodded, licking his lips for the third time in under a minute, fingers drumming against his leg. "I want to do this – I need to. I just . . ." he paused, and looked around the crowded room, gulping. "I didn't expect there to be so many people here tonight." No way there could be that many people there normally. There was always so many seats available every other time they came. Tonight it felt as though there were scarcely any seats free in the crowded community centre. If they weren't careful he might end up having to sit in Steve's lap for the meeting.

"Well, whether you do or you don't, just remember."

"You're with me till the end of the line," Bucky smiled as he said the words. Steve may have had his own issues following the war, coming out of the ice, and waking up seventy years later than he remembered, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to put them aside in an instant in order to be there for him. So many of the others they listened to here at the support group had no one. Their marriages ended, friends pulled away, and their families were at a lost as to how to help. But he had Steve. He always had Steve – Thank God. He'd be lost without him. "Thanks for coming with me tonight, man. Means a lot."

"For you? Anything."

Pulling back the wooden doors, Charlie looked around, hopelessly lost. _Where the hell is 3A?_ This was the right address, but it was a part of DC she was unfamiliar with. Ready to pull out her phone and message for help, she heard a familiar voice drift from down the hall. Sliding her phone back into her pocket she walked on the balls of her feet to avoid the clicking of her heels against the linoleum floor from announcing her presence. She was already running twenty minutes late – great way to make a good impression, just thank God it wasn't a first one.

A little further down the hall, she found the room she was looking for – Event Room 3A. _Thank God – some one left the door open!_ Sneaking in silently, she scanned the room until she found Sam, standing at the back as James sat next to Steve on folding chairs in the crowded little event room. Evidently, DC was filled with more battle scarred veterans than anyone cared to realize.

"Hey," Sam mouthed once he caught sight of her, looking lost in the doorway. "Glad you could make it."

"Hey," she whispered, tiptoeing over towards Sam. "So sorry I'm late. Parking here is crazy – Morgan is still circling trying to find a place. Did I miss much?"

"Nah – just started."

James was talking. Recounting his latest set back in the battle to control his PTSD. His nightmares. They came back, worse than they'd been in a while, so bad in fact that he was back to his old habits of not sleeping. He was seeing his therapist in the morning, hoping that maybe they'd be able to help.

"At this point it just feels useless," he confessed, running fingers through his hair. "Nothing helps. Not for long. I close my eyes and I see them – all the people I hurt. They're begging me for their lives, and I'm screaming. I don't want to do this, I don't want to hurt them, but I can't stop it. I can't stop the trigger from being pulled. I'm sick of feeling powerless. So I applied for an active field agent position with the agency my friends work for. I thought maybe I could get some control back. But it had a psych eval, and I'm still waiting for the results, and the more I wait, the more helpless it all feels. I mean, is this what I can expect my life to be like form now on? Waiting around for job after job to reject me because I can't keep the ghosts in my head under control?"

Charlie exchanged a look with Sam. This was the part where he, the moderator, was supposed to say something helpful or encouraging to the speaker. She waited for his permission, which came in the form of a nod and knowing smirk, before saying anything.

"It does get easier," she answered from the back of the room, causing everyone to turn in their seats and look at her. "In time. Speaking from experience, that feeling of powerlessness fades. You'll never fully go back to who you were, but you do get to move forward. You might not get rid of the ghosts completely, but the hauntings will become less frequent. And the most important thing to remember is that you're not alone in this. Ever."

"Well said," Sam leaned over, whispering in her ear, before taking back over. Quickly he explained Charlie's background, before moving on with meeting business as usual.

* * *

Once Sam said his final words to the group, Bucky bolted out of his seat, and headed straight for Charlie. His heart had stopped beating the moment he heard her voice from the back of the room, and he needed to know what, or who, brought her there tonight. He couldn't fight the lump in his throat when he saw the smile on her face once their eyes met.

"What are you doing here?" he greeted through his astonishment. "I didn't even know you were back from Washington."

"Got back this morning," she smiled, stifling a yawn, hoping he didn't mistake it for boredom. "I called Sam earlier to find out what you guys were up to tonight, and he invited me."

"I thought it might do you some good to hear it coming from someone else for a change," Sam explained, breaking away from a few of the others in the group to join his friends with a curious Steve by his side. "Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," Bucky shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Took me by surprise, but it was nice." He was trying so hard to play nonchalant around her, not that it was working, but he tried. "Wait, when did you get his number?"

"We exchanged info on Saturday as she waited for Coulson." Sam chuckled at Bucky's jealousy flare up briefly.

"Sam thought it might be good for me to hear you speak about what you're going through – hear it in your own voice. Besides I had something I needed to do anyways. I picked this up this morning, and asked director Fury if I could give it to you in person," she grinned. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a large case file, handing it over in James's direction. "Congratulations Agent Barnes, you have been officially declared fit for duty, and will be returning to the field with haste."

Bucky could barely breath as he looked over the carefully hand written notes in his psych eval, but his eyes never strayed far from the large red 'approved' stamp on his file. He couldn't believe it – he was returning to the field. "Why? How?" he stammered in his disbelief.

"James," Charlie chuckled. He still didn't understand the point of the eval. Bless his heart. "My job was to determine whether or not there was still some small piece of the Winter Soldier buried deep inside of you – and if there was a risk that it might come out. Not to determine if you had PTSD."

"You think he's really gone?" Bucky looked up, hopefully, from the file.

"I know he is," she replied. Reaching over she gave his arm a light rub. "It was pretty obvious from the start of the eval. When we started talking about your age you flexed your hand three times – subconsciously determining how many times older you are than me, subtly denoting signs of romantic interest – something the Winter Soldier was programmed to ignore. But the real clincher was actually after the eval officially ended."

"What happened after the eval?" Steve interjected, confused. Bucky didn't talk much about what happened after he claimed to have forgotten something in the office. At the time he played along, but he knew the only thing Bucky had forgotten was to try and get the Agent's phone number.

"Yeah, what exactly did I do aside from make a total ass of myself?" wondered Bucky, looking every bit as lost as Steve and Sam.

"You told me you were sorry," she explained averting her gaze from the three pairs of eyes on her, cheeks flushing.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath she realized that for a brief moment she forgot that she wasn't talking to profilers. These people didn't read into every word or minor action. It was refreshing. "You didn't know me; you didn't know about my past, but you knew I was upset, and you told me you were sorry for whatever was bothering me. It was a sign of empathy. We . . . I mean, I profiled that the Winter Soldier was incapable of empathy – he couldn't function with it. By displaying empathy you definitively proved that the Winter Soldier was gone for good. And what made it even more conclusive, was the fact that you did it entirely on your own accord – not because of a psych eval."

Waiting for the series of congratulations to die down amongst James and his friends, Charlie continued. "I also wanted to give you this," she slid a small business card in the front pocket of his button down shirt. "My personal number is on the back. It's the best way to reach me if you have any questions regarding the Eval. Or, if you need me for something else."

"Such as?" wondered Bucky with a suggestive smirk.

"Such as," she grinned, avoiding the gaze currently causing her cheeks to burn, "showing me some of those 1940s moves of yours."

"Well we're just about finished here – you want to grab a cup of coffee with us?" offered Steve.

"I wish I could, but I'll have to take a rain check. There's an arsonist hell bent on burning down a small town in New Mexico." Exchanging looks with Bucky, who was grinning more than the Cheshire cat, Charlie leaned in kissing his cheek gently, before turning on her heels, and made her way through the crowd to the front door.

"Damn. Now that was smooth," Sam let out a low whistle, as they watched the young woman confidently walk away.

Bucky dug the card out of his pocket, and turned it over in his hands. She was right. There it was plain as day, written in green ink was her personal, unlisted phone number. To the left of it was a little daisy with a smiley face in the centre. She was a doodler. He loved doodlers. He stared down at the card, smiling to himself, eager to test out that number when Steve smacked his arm, hard. Looking up from the little card in his hands, he found Charlie standing in front of him again. Now he could actually do something about his feelings for her, like kiss her.

"Sorry, I forgot one more thing," she laughed casually. "Just something minor, it's silly really."

Bucky was about to ask what it was she'd forgotten when he was stopped, by the presence of her lips brushing softly against his as she threw one arm around his neck suddenly. Acting on instinct, he cupped her face in his palms, before wrapping one warm around her waist, pulling her body in close to him while burying the other in her thick hair pressing her lips firmly against his, grateful he didn't just stand there like an idiot as she kissed him.

Her lips were warm and soft, just as he imagined they would be. What he didn't expect was her tasting like vanilla and chai – a latte perhaps? Maybe it was her lip balm? He didn't know why, but he'd gotten it into his head that like her shampoo her lip balm would also be coconut. Whatever it was she wore on her lips though, it was delicious and left his tingling, and begging for more. Just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, and the kiss ended far too soon for his liking.

"Um," he blinked once she stepped back. "What . . . what was . . . what?" His mind suddenly turned to the consistency of pudding, and he had difficulty stringing two words together – let alone enough to make a full sentence, or a thought. But he was smiling, grinning like a stupid kid seeing his crush at the school dance. That was something he definitely wanted to do again.

"I don't want to spend my life wondering what that might have been like – just in case I don't get that phone call," she smiled leaning in to whisper the last bit.

"Oh trust me, I think you're definitely going to be getting that call," Sam chuckled at the mildly stunned, yet incredibly dopey expression on Bucky's face.

"I certainly hope so," Charlie replied, not taking her eyes off Bucky's face, with an amused smile. "Y'all have a good night now." Without another word she waved goodbye to the others and walked away to meet her team as they waited for her outside the meeting hall in the parked SUV.

* * *

The jet's turbines came to a slow whirr before stopping entirely. Removing the ear buds from her ears, Charlie leaned over and gently began nudging Reid's shoulder rousing him from his nap. "Rise and shine, pretty boy," she whispered playfully.

Yawning as he stretched, Reid rubbed the last traces of sleep from his eyes. "How long was I out?" he wondered as Charlie handed him his go bag from the overhead compartment.

"Since take off," snickered JJ.

"Looks like Sleeping Beauty's back from the dead," teased Morgan, ruffling Reid's hair.

"Hey, cut that out. Charlie!" He swatted away at Morgan's hand, whining for his big sister to intervene on his behalf.

"Boys, settle down," Charlie warned, semi-seriously, with a tired grin on her face as she looked up from her pile of paperwork. It was late, everyone was tired, and it had been a long case. She was in no mood to deal with the boys' usual horsing around.

"Good work everyone," Hotch spoke up, giving them their final little pep talk before disembarking. "We'll regroup at 0800 in the conference room, Monday. Until then, re-coop, try to get some rest. Don't call . . . I'm serious." He gave them a warning look indicating that he was, in fact, serious. He didn't want to hear from them over the weekend unless one of them happened to be offering to babysit for an evening.

"Aye, aye Captain," Rossi chuckled slinging his bag over his shoulder, getting ready to get off the plane.

"Woo," Morgan cheered along with Prentiss and JJ. "Free weekend. Any big plans for you Rhys?" he asked, draping one arm on Charlie's shoulder as they started down the stairs, stepping into the chilled night air.

"Oh yeah." Charlie laughed. "Try going home, crawling in to my ever loving bed, and not getting out again until Monday."

"Looks like you're gonna have some company," commented Reid coming up behind them.

"Why, you offering?" teased Charlie glancing back over her shoulder as Reid followed them on to the tarmac, recalling their conversation at the dance studio following Zumba.

"What? No." Reid replied quickly, making a disgusted face as his cheeks burned a fierce scarlet. "That borders on incest. Besides, I think he's more your type," he pointed over her shoulder towards the hangar.

Multiple sets of eyes followed Reid's out stretched hand. As per usual Garcia waited patiently to greet her beloved Derek, it was the figure standing next to her that caused a few "oohs" and more than one of her colleagues to jostle Charlie's arm. A couple feet next to Garcia stood a familiar Sergeant dressed in black jeans, army tee, black leather jacket and visitors badge.

From the moment she met his eyes Charlie fought the losing battle to keep the grin from splitting her face from ear to ear as her skin tingled with a nervous excitement. She didn't trust her eyes enough to believe she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing. With long, eager strides, she broke away from her team, and veered towards the soldier.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, grinning in disbelief. She expected he'd call to arrange their date, but she never expected this. This better than she could even imagine.

"I forgot something," replied Bucky bursting out into a smile of his own. His eyes burned with an electricity that turned his baby blues into luminous ocean tides, sweeping Charlie out to sea with every second his gaze lingered on her.

"Oh and what did you - " she was promptly cut off by his lips brushing against hers as his fingers caressed the side of her face before threading themselves in her hair.

Suddenly her skin started tingling for a very different reason. Dropping the duffel bag, that had been casually slung over one shoulder, to the ground, Charlie reached up, wrapping both of her arms around his neck. Leaning into the kiss she allowed herself to simply melt into his arms as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"To thank you for finally giving me that sign," whispered Bucky between ragged breaths as his forehead pressed against hers. His heart hammered furiously in his chest; it was nice to have it hammer that way, for a change.

"Any time," murmured Charlie. Looking up at him through the pieces of her hair, she smiled. "Told you I'd make it obvious."

"Thank God," he said, picking her up by wrapping his metal arm around her waist, he spun her around. "You have dinner yet?"

"Does a bag of pretzels on the plane count?" she wondered playfully, picking up her bag from where she dropped it on the tarmac after he set her back down.

"No."

"Then it looks like I'm all yours."

"Mhmm, I like the sounds of that." Bucky wrapped one arm around her waist again, pulling her in close to him for another kiss. Lacing their fingers together they followed the rest of her team, who quickly tried to pretend they hadn't been watching the couple the whole time.

"Way to play it cool guys," Charlie called as they passed them, making their way towards the elevator. "So, where did you want to go for dinner?" she wondered, pressing the close button once she and James were safely enclosed in the elevator.

His fingers toyed with hers, thumb brushing lightly against the back of her hand, "so I thought maybe we could go back to your place, order some take out, and you could show me that Mummy movie Garcia says you're so nuts about, and just have a lazy night in together."

Leaning in Charlie kissed him sweetly. "This might be just the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," she confessed stepping out into the Quantico lobby.

"Stick with me kid," Bucky laughed, draping his arm around her shoulders before returning his visitors badge to the front desk. "Gonna show you the way a real gent treats his lady."

Everyone still working eyed the strange man with the metal arm holding their colleague as they walked out the front doors of FBI headquarters and into the late Friday night air, as though they couldn't believe their eyes. There would be plenty of gossip around the office come Monday morning. Funnily enough, Charlie didn't care. Let them stare. The only person who mattered to her in that moment was currently holding her like it was the most natural thing in the world, and looked at her the way she always wanted, like she was the only person in the whole damn world aside from them. The feeling filled her with a warm, giddy excitement she hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. Looking back at James she grinned, definitely no regrets.

 _Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you've never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more._

 _– Bob Marley_


End file.
